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THE 



LITTLE SPEAKER, 

AND 

JUYENILE reader; 

BEING- 

A COLLECTION OF PIECES 

IN 

PROSE, POETRY, AND DIALOGUE, 



FOR EXERCISES IN SPEAKING, AND FOR OCCASIONAL 
READING, IN PRIMARY SCHOOLS. 



BY CHAELES' NORTHMD; A. M. 

PRINCIPAL OP THE EPES SCHOOL, SALEM, MASS., AUTHOR OP ^' THE 

AMERICAN SPEAKER." '-SCHOOL DIALOGUES,'' "COMMON 

SCHOOL BOOK-KEEPING." AND "YOUNG 

COMPOSER." 



NEW YORK: 

PUBLISHED BY A. S. BARNES & CO. 

CINCINNATI: H. W. DERBY & CO. 

BOSTON: B. B. MUSSEY; W. J. REYNOLDS & CO. 

18 4 9. 






Entered, according' to Act of Congress, in the year 1849, by 

CHARLES NORTHEND, 
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts. 



Stereotyped by 

HOBART AND ROBBINS ; 

New Ensland Type and Stereotype Foundery, 

Boston. 



REMARKS, 



Since the publication of the *' American Speaker," 
the compiler has frequently been requested to prepare 
a similar work adapted to the wants of children in 
our primary schools. 

It has been found that quite young children may 
engage in the exercise of "speaking" with profit, 
and, generally, they do so with more interest than 
is manifested by those who are older. 

It is usually true, that the longer, exercises in 
declamation and composition are delayed, the more 
difficult it will be to enlist the attention, and awaken 
interest in them. 

It has been a leading object, in the compilation 
of this little volume, as it was in that of the larger 
Speaker, to insert pieces calculated to have a good 
moral influence. 



REMARKS. 



If it shall tend, in any degree, to the interest or 
benefit of the little ones, for whom it is particularly- 
intended, the compiler will have no reason to regret 
its preparation. 

Such as it is, he commends it to the notice of 
the young, and to those interested in their education 
and happiness, with the sincere desire that it may 
be found a useful and acceptable volume. 

Salem, Mass., Aug., 1849. 



CONTENTS. 



PART L — Prose. 



LIFE 

WHAT I HATE, . 

WHAT I LIKE, . 

OUR PARENTS, . 

GEORGE WASHINGTON, 

WHEN TO SAY NO, . 

AN ADDRESS TO PARENTS, 

TOO DEAR FOR THE WHISTLE, 

THE GOOD SCHOLAR, 

INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS, 

GOD ALWAY'S SEES US, 

OBEDIENCE; OR, STORY OF CASABIANCA, 



PART IL — Poetry. 



10 
12 
13 
15 
16 
18 



THE YOUNG ORATOR, .27 

EVERY ONE CAN DO SOME GOOD, 28 

PLAY AND STUDY, 29 

DON'T KILL THE BIRDS, 29 

THE ANT AND THE CRICKET, 30 

WHAT I HATE TO SEE, 32 

MORNING THOUGHTS, 33 

LUCY'S LAMB, . 34 

RETURN OF SPRING, 35 

PLACES FOR FRANK AND ME, ...... 37 

HOME, • . 38 

THE STARRY FIRMAMENT, 39 

TRY' — TRY AGAIN, 40 

SONG OF THE SNOWBIRD, 41 

THE LADY-BUG TO THE ANT, 43 

GRATITUDE, . 44 

THE WAY TO BE HAPPY, 45 

THE CLOSE OF THE DAY, 46 

THE CHILD'S WISH, 46 

THE GREEDY FOX, 48 

THE IDLE BOY, 50 

CLOSE OF TERM, 51 

CASABIANCA, 52 

THE CRICKET AND NIGHTINGALE, 54 

THE USE OF FLOWERS, 55 

THE LITTLE COLT, 56 

MUSIC 58 

VACATION, . 59 

THE FIGHTING BIRDS, 60 



8 CONTENTS. ^^ 


THE POPPY, 


60 


THE VIOLET, 


61 


WORK AND PLAY, 


62 


INFINITE WISDOM, 


63 


THE SCHOOL FOR ME, . . . 


64 


MY MOTHER, 


65 


THE LOST KITE, 


66 


KLNDNESS 


68 


USEFULNESS, 


68 


THE BOYS AND WOLF, ...... 


69 


EARLY RISING, 


71 


AMBITION, 


72 


NATURE'S INSTRUCTIONS, .... 


73 


DUTY, 


74 


CHARLEY AND HIS SHILLING, .... 


75 


THE SCHOOLROOM, 


77 


LAZY NED, 


. 78 


THE RETURN OF SPRING, .... 


79 


JACK FROST, 


. 80 


WHIP-POOR-WILL, 


82 


LINES FOR AN EXHIBITION, .... 


. 83 


PERSEVERANCE, 


84 


THE HOME OF MY YOUTH, 


. 85 


LIFE, 


86 


ADDRESS, 


. 87 


PART III. — Dialogues. 




MENTAL IMPROVEMENT, .... 


89 


CHOICE OF HOURS, 


92 


WHAT IS MOST BEAUTIFUL? .... 


. 93 


THE SEASONS, 


96 


CHILDREN'S WISHES, 


. 98 


GENEROSITY, 


S9 


THE ANGELS, 


. 100 


ABOUT SCHOOL, 


. 102 


LITTLE LUCY AND HER MOTHER, 


. 104 


WHO WATCHES OVER US? 


. 106 


THE CREATOR, 


. 107 


THE EVENING STAR, 


. 108 


GOING TO SCHOOL 


. 110 


THE TREE AND ITS FRUIT, .... 


. 112 


THE PRETTIEST SIGHT, 


. 114 


THE WAY TO GAIN LOVE, .... 


. n7 


ABOUT ORDER, 


. 119 


HOW TO BE HAPPY, 


. 121 


THE WORLD, 


. 123 


TRUTHFULNESS AND HONESTY, 


. 125 


SPEAKING PIECES, 


. 128 


INDUSTRY PROMOTES HAPPINESS, . 


. 131 


THE LITTLE PHILOSOPHER, .... 


. 135 


ABOUT THINKING, 


. 140 


THE GOOD BOY AND THE TRUANT, . 


. 142 


INDOLENCE WILL BRING WANT, 


. 145 


ABOUT STUDY, 


. 146 


JOHN HASTY AND PETER aUIET, 


. 149 


SCHOOL PROMOTES HAPPINESS, 


. 151 


ABOUT GAMBLING, 


. 154 


THE PEACOCK, 


. 158 


THE MAGIC LAMP, 


. 160 



PART I. 



PROSE. 



LIFE. 



There are insects which live but a single day. 
In the morning they are bom ; at noon they are 
in full life ; at evening they die. The life of 
man is similar to that of these insects. It is true 
his life is longer, but it is composed of days, any 
one of which may be his last. 

Our existence is like a journey. As every step 
of the traveller brings him nearer to the end of 
his journey, so every hour brings us nearer to 
the grave. Like the insect's life, ours may be 
divided into three parts ; — youth, or morning, — 
noon, or middle age, — and evening, or old age. 

In youth we get our education, and lay up those 



10 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

Stores of knowledge which are to be of use in 
the journey before us. As this journey is of 
importance, we should be as busy as the bee, that 
improves each '' shining hour." Every moment 
should be well improved, in order that we may 
become wiser and better as life wears away. 

Middle age is the time for action ; and if we 
rightly improve the time and privileges which we 
now enjoy, we shall become prepared to act use- 
fully our parts in life. Let us, then, be diligent 
now, and store our minds with valuable knowl- 
edge, that our future journey may be a useful 
and pleasant one. 



WHAT I HATE. 

I HATE to see a boy often absent from his 
school without any good reason. He not only 
wrongs himself, but he injures his school ; and I 
fear that he will become an ignorant and bad 
man, if he lives to grow up. 

I hate to see a boy lagging into school " half 
an hour too late." It makes me feel that he has 
no true interest in his school and its studies, and 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 11 

no regard for the wishes of his teacher or the 
rig-hts of his schoolmates. I fear he will be 
" behindhand " in all life's duties. 

I hate to see a boy enter school with a dirty 
face, uncombed hair, or untidy dress. I fear that 
he has no regard to personal neatness, and, if he 
lives, he will become a careless and slovenly man 
and an unpleasant companion. 

I hate to see a boy sitting idle in school, or 
spending his precious time in whispering or 
troubling his neighbors. I feel that he will not 
know his lesson when called to recite, and that 
he may get punished by his teacher. 

I hate to hear a boy use wicked or improper 
language, or speak unkindly to his schoolmates ; 
for a bad or unkind boy will, I fear, become a 
wicked man, a troublesome neighbor, and a law- 
less citizen. 

I hate to see a boy running after carriages in 
the street, or behaving rudely in any way. I fear 
he will become a rude man, and be regardless of 
the wishes or rights of others. 

These are some of the things that I dislike ; 
and I hope all in our school will avoid them, and 
then we shall have a happy and pleasant time, 
and improve in our studies. 



12 - THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



WHAT I LIKE. 

I LIKE to see a boy, with " shining morning 
face " and happy countenance, on his way to 
school. I feel that he loves his school and all 
its exercises, and that, if he lives, he will become 
an intelligent, useful, and happy man. 

I like to see a boy enter school in season, and 
take his seat in a quiet manner. It makes me 
think that he will make a man who will be punc- 
tual in performing all his duties, and one who 
will regard the rights of others. 

I like to see a boy, while in school, attending 
to his lessons, and trying hard to learn them per- 
fectly. I feel that he is a good boy, and that, if 
he continues so, he will store his mind with much 
valuable knowledge, which will be of use to him 
in after life. 

I like to see a boy kind and obedient to his 
parents and teacher, and ever ready to do what 
he can for them* I feel that the obedient and 
affectionate boy will make a useful and faithful 
citizen, and " act well his part in life." 

I like to see a boy pleasant and obliging to his 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 13 

companions, and to all with whom he may meet. 
It makes me feel that he will be loved by all who 
know him, and that he will never suffer for want 
of friends. 

I like to see a boy who is careful not to use 
any improper language, and who feels a proper 
reo^ard for the wants and feelino-s of others. I 
feel that he is one of those of whom the Bible 
says, '' Blessed are the pure in heart." 



OUR PARENTS. 

I FEAR, my beloved schoolmates, that we do not 
consider, as we ought, how much we owe to our 
dear parents for all their kindness to us. Let us 
give a moment's attention to the subject, and see 
if w^e have either done what we could^ or what 
we ought, 

When we were so small as to be entirely help- 
less, who took care of us, supplied all our wants, 
and protected us from every danger, giving us 
food, clothing, and shelter? I answer, — ^^ Our 
dear parents.''' 

When we were sufferins; from sickness and 



14 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

pain, who watched over us day and night, and 
did all they could to lessen our pains, and make 
us well again ? Who could or who would do all 
this as our parents have done ? 

When we were old enough to learn, who spent 
much time in teaching us, and supplied us with 
books, that we might attend school and receive 
assistance and instruction from kind teachers ? 
Again I answer, — " Ou7^ beloved parents.^'' 

Who have ever felt an interest in us, and done 
all they could to make iis wise and good, useful 
and happy ? You will all be ready to say, " Our 
dear parents have been our best and kindest 
friends." 

How, then, shall we repay them for all their 
goodness ? I answer, " We never can fully repay 
them." But let us love and obey them, be kind 
and affectionate to our brothers and sisters, be 
pleasant to all, and try to do all the good we can, 
and then our parents will feel repaid for all they 
have done and suffered for us. I hope no scholar 
in our school will ever be unkind or disobedient 
to his parents, and that we shall all love, honor, 
and obey them at all times. This will not only 
please them, but it will make us happy. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 15 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 

When George Washington was about six years 
old, he was made the owner of a little hatchet, 
of which, like most boys, he was very fond, and 
with which he was constantly going about, trying 
it upon everything that came in his way. 

One day, while in the garden, he unfortunately 
tried the edge of his hatchet on the body of a 
beautiful young cherry-tree, which his father 
valued very highly; and in a few minutes he so 
injured the tree that it never recovered. 

The next day, his father, walking in his gar- 
den, saw the ruined tree, and, entering the house, 
he inquired for the author of the mischief, at the 
same time expressing much regret that his fa- 
vorite tree had been ruined. 

At first, no one could tell anything about it, 
and all felt much sorrow at the loss of the tree. 
But in a few minutes little George came in, with 
his hatchet, and Mr. Washington said, " George, 
do you know who cut my beautiful cherry-tree 
in the garden ? " 

This was a hard question, and, for a moment. 



16 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

George hesitated, but quickly recovering himself, 
I and looking at his father with a sweet and honest 
expression, he bravely said, " I cannot tell a lie, 
father — you know, I cannot tell a lie. I did it 
with my little hatchet." 

" My brave boy! " said the father, " come to 
my arms. I am glad you cannot tell a lie, for I 
would rather lose ten thousand trees, than have 
my son tell a lie." My dear schoolmates, let us 
think of George Washington, and always be as 
careful as he was to speak the truth. 



WHEN TO SAY NO. 

Although " No " is a very little word, it is 
not always easy to utter it ; and a failure to do 
so often causes trouble. I will now name some 
cases in which we should promptly and decidedly 
say, " No." 

When we are asked to stay away from our 
school, and spend the time, which ought to be 
unproved in getting knowledge, in idleness or 
mischief, we should at once and positively say, 
'' No." 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



17 



When we are urged to loiter on our way to 
the schoolroom, and thus get late, and interrupt 
our teacher and school, we should earnestly say 
" No ; we cannot consent to be late." 

When desired by some schoolmate to whisper, 
or engage in any play that shall tend to interrupt 
our school, we should promptly say " No ; we 
cannot violate the rules of our school." 

When we are tempted to use improper or 
wicked words, or engage in angry conversation, 
we should remember that the eye of God is upon 
us, and earnestly say " No; we cannot speak bad 
words — we cannot quarrel." 

When we have done anything wrong, and are 
advised to conceal it by telling a falsehood, we 
should without hesitation say " No ; we can never 
tell a lie, for it is wicked and cowardly; we must: 
always dare to speak the truth." 

If we are asked to do anything which we know 
to be wrong, or anything that will tend to injure 
others, we should not hesitate to say " No." If 
we will learn to say*" No," when tempted to do 
wrong, and have courage always to do right, we 
should avoid much trouble, and be happy. • 



2* 



18 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



AN ADDRESS TO PARENTS. 

Respected Pahents and Fkiends — 

It affords us pleasure to see you here on the 
present occasion, and we bid you a cordial wel- 
come to this, our pleasant schoolroom. Here we 
are wont to meet from day to day, and spend our 
time in attending to those studies which will tend 
to make us more useful and happy when we are 
grown up. 

To you we feel that we are under great obli- 
gations for all the privileges we enjoy, and we 
trust that we feel truly grateful for them. We 
will try, at this time, to show you that we have 
not been wholly idle or inattentive to our lessons. 
In listening to our performances, 

" Do not view us with a critic's eye, 
But pass our imperfections by." 

In behalf of these, my schoolmates, I tender 
you heartfelt and sincere thanks for all your kind- 
ness. We hope no one of you will ever have 
occasion to feel that any member of this school 
has misimproved or wasted his time. 

We hope that you will still continue your 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 19 

kindness ; and in return for it, we will try so to 
improve all our time and privileges, that we may 
become useful members of society, and, in all our 
actions, merit your approbation. 
And may we all feel that 

" Our life is a school-time ; and, till that shall end, 
With our Father in heaven for Teacher and Friend, 
O ! let us well perform each task that is given. 
Till our time of probation is ended in heaven." 



TOO DEAR FOR THE WHISTLE. 

When Benjamin Franklin was a child, his 
parents, on one Election Day, filled his little 
pockets with cents. He w^ent immediately to- 
wards a shop, in order to buy some playthings ; 
but on his way he met a boy blowing a whistle, 
which pleased him so much that he gave all his 
cents for it. 

He went directly home, and went all over the 
house, blowing his whistle, and expressing much 
delight with his bargain. But when his brothers 
and sisters learned how much he had given for 
it, they laughed at him, and told him he had paid 
dearly for the whistle. 



20 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

When I see boys and girls idling away their 
precious time, and neglecting their lessons, I 
cannot help thinking that they will, sooner or 
later, feel that they have paid " too dear for their 
whistle, "^^ 

When I see a boy quarrelling in the streets, 
calling hard names, or using improper language, 
I feel that he is paying a very '^high price for 
his whistle. ^^ 

When I see a boy disobeying his kind parents 
or teachers, and treating his friends unkindly, I 
am induced to think " his whistle is costing him 
much more than it is worth.''"' 

When I see boys or girls indulging in any bad 
habits, or doing anything that is wrong, I feel 
that they will have to repent for having paid 
" an extravagant price for their whistle.^'' 

Let us see to it, my youthful companions, that 
we do not mis-spend our time, abuse our privi- 
leges, or engage in any of those hurtful practices 
which will cause us to feel that " we have paid 
too dear for our whistle.^'' 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 21 



THE GOOD SCHOLAR. 

The good scholar may be known by his obe- 
dience to the rules of the school, and to the 
directions of his teacher. He always does, at 
once, whatever his teacher wishes him to do. He 
is very careful to be at school in good season, and 
is never absent, unless for a very good reason. 

While in school, he sits still and studies his 
lessons diligently, and recites them correctly. 
He takes no toys from his pocket to amuse himself 
or others. He has no fruit to eat, no sweetmeats 
to give away. If his companions try to cause 
him to do wrong, he does not give heed to them. 

When strangers enter the school, he does not 
stare rudely in their faces, but continues to give 
attention to his lessons. If they speak to him, 
he listens attentively, and answers with modesty 
and respect. When the scholars in his class 
are reciting, he is very attentive, that he may 
learn by hearing them. 

AVhen he has a hard task to perform, or a 
difficult lesson to learn, he does not fret, and say, 
" I can't get it," but he goes to work at once and 
diligently. He feels that his teacher will not 



22 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

require more of him than he is able to do, and 
he therefore works cheerfully. He is willing to 
work very hard and long, to please his teacher 
and parents. 

When he reads, he speaks his words so dis- 
tinctly that he can be easily heard and under- 
stood. He tries to learn all his lessons thorough- 
ly, and feels that whatever is worth doing at all 
is worth doing well^ and he therefore tries to do 
everything well. 

A good scholar is not only anxious to do well 
himself, but he rejoices in the improvement of 
his schoolmates. He feels that if all do well, 
parents and teachers will be pleased, and the 
school will be a useful and happy one. My dear 
companions, let us all strive to do well, that each 
of us may really become a good scholar. 



INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS. 

Dear Parents and Friends — 

We are glad you have come to see us on this 
interesting occasion, and we hope you will not 
feel sorry that you have come. 

We have invited you in, at this time, that you 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 23 

may know, by our good conduct and by the im- 
provement we have made, that our time has not 
been wasted, and that the privileges you have so 
kindly provided for us have not been abused. 

If we have not always done as well as we pos- 
sibly could, we are sorry for it, and we will try, and 
try hard, to do better for the future ; and if we 
try, and " keep trying," w^e shall, without doubt, 
succeed. 

But we do feel that w^e have done some things 
well, and tKat we have learned a great many 
useful lessons. Besides what w^e have learned 
from our books, our kind teacher has told us 
many things which will be valuable to us, if we 
remember them. For all that she has done for 
us, we thank her from our young and tender 
hearts, and we feel that God w411 bless her too. 

But we hope you will not expect too much of 
us. Please to remember that we are but chil- 
dren, and that our performances will be marked 
by the errors of childhood. We trust that the 
exercises to which you may listen will be inter- 
esting to you, and profitable to. the school of 
which we are members ; and, with many thanks 
for your past goodness, we bespeak your future 
interest and attention. 



24 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



GOD ALWAYS SEES US. 

Whenever we are tempted to do anything 
that is wrong, or engage in any improper amuse- 
ments, we should remember that there is an eye 
that sees all we do. 

If we feel inclined to leave our school, and 
waste our precious time in idleness or in mis- 
chief, we should repeat the four short words — 
" Thou God seest us," and refrain from sin. 

If we are ever disposed to disobey our dear 
parents or teachers, and do those things which 
we know will displease them, may the thought 
of the words, " Thou God seest us," keep us 
from doing the wrong we are tempted to do. 

When we are excited to anger and the use of 
wicked words, may we pause long enough to say, 
" Thou God seest us," and we shall seldom 
indulge the angry looks, or atter the wicked 
words. 

When we are walking in the streets, or en- 
gaging in our sports, may the thought of the 
words, " Thou God seest us," keep us from 
every improper act and expression. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



25 



When we are in the schoolroom, may we be 
obedient to our teacher, attentive to our lessons, 
and orderly in all things, often remembering the 
words, " Thou God seest us." 

In all the duties of life, and in all our amuse- 
ments, may we remember that the eye of God is 
ever upon us ; and may we strive earnestly to 
please our Heavenly Father in all things. Then 
he will bless us, and make us happy here and 
hereafter. 



OBEDIENCE; OR, STORY OF CASABIANCA. 



There was a little boy, about thirteen years 
old, whose name was Casablanca. His father 
commanded a ship of war called the Orient, and 
the little boy was with his father when the ship 
was engaged in a hard battle on the river Nile. 

During the battle, his father placed him in a 
particular part of the ship, to perform some ser- 
vice, and told him to remain at his post until he 
should call him. As the father went toward a 
distant part of the ship, a ball from the enemy's 
vessel laid him dead upon the deck. 



26 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

But Casablanca, not knowing what had hap- 
pened, and faithful to the trust reposed in him, 
remained at his post, waiting for his father's 
orders. The battle raged dreadfully, and the 
ship was soon on fire, and the flames approached 
the boy. 

Still he would not disobey his father by leav- 
ing his post. In the face of blood, and balls, 
and fire, he stood firm and obedient. But as the 
sailors began to leave the burning and sinking 
ship, he cried out, " Father, may I go ? " 

But no voice of permission could come from 
the mangled body of his lifeless father ; and the 
boy, not knowing that he was dead, would rather 
die than disobey. And there that boy stood at 
his post, till every man had deserted the ship ; 
he stood and perished in the flames. 

O, what a noble, faithful boy was Casablanca ! 
Every one who has ever heard of him thinks he 
wag one of the noblest boys that ever lived. 
May all boys strive to be as obedient and faith- 
ful as he was, and they will always have friends. 



PART II. 



POETRY, 



THE YOUNG ORATOR. 

You 'd scarce expect one of my age 

To speak in public on the stage ; 

And if 1 chance to fall below 

Demosthenes or Cicero, 

Don't view me with a critic's eye, 

But pass my imperfections by. 

Large streams from little fountains flow ; 

Tall oaks from little acorns grow : 

And though I now am small and young, 

Of judgment weak, and feeble tongue. 

Yet all great, learned, men, like me, 

Once learned to read their A, B, C. 

But why may not Columbia's soil 

Rear men as great as Britain's isle ; 

Exceed what Greece and Rome have done. 

Or any land beneath the sun 1 



28 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



May n't Massachusetts boast as great 

As any other sister state 1 

Or where 's the town, go far and near, 

That does not find a rival here 1 

Or where 's the boy, but three feet high. 

Who 's made improvement more than 1 1 

These thoughts inspire my youthful mind 

To be the greatest of mankind ; 

Great, not like Caesar, stained with blood ; 

But, like Washington, great in good. 



EVERY ONE CAN DO SOME GOOD, 

What if a little rain should say, 

*^ So small a drop as I 
Can ne'er refresh the thirsty fields, — 

I '11 tarry in the sky T' 

What if a shining beam at noon 
Should in its fountain stay, 

Because its feeble light alone 
Cannot create a day ? 

Doth not each rain-drop help to form 
The cool, refreshing shower, 
" And every ray of light to warm 
And beautify the flower? 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 29 

PLAY AND STUDY. 
Some play is good to make us strong, 

And school to make us wise ; 
But playing always — that is wrong, 

And what we should despise. 

What can be worse than idleness, 

For making children bad 1 
It surely leads them to distress. 

And much that 's very sad. 

Sometimes they learn to lie and cheat ; 

Sometimes to steal and swear : 
These are the lessons in the street, 

For those who wander there. 

Better it is at school to learn 

To think, and spell, and read ; 
And then to play and work in turn 

Is happiness indeed. 



DON'T KILL THE BIRDS. 

Don't kill the birds ! — the little birds 

That sing about your door. 
Soon as the joyous spring has come, 

And chilling storms are o'er. 

The little birds ! how sweet they sing ! 
O ! let them joyous live ; 



30 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

And do not seek to take the life 
Which you can never give. 

Don't kill the birds ! — the pretty birds 

That play among the trees ! 
'T vi^ould make the earth a cheerless place, 

Should we dispense with these. 

The little birds ! how fond they play ! 

Do not disturb their sport ; 
But let them warble forth their songs, 

Till winter cuts them short. 

Don't kill the birds ! — the happy birds, 
That bless the field and grove ; 

So innocent to look upon, 

They claim our warmest love. 

The happy birds ! the tuneful birds ! 

How pleasant 't is to see ! 
No spot can be a cheerless place 

Where'er their presence be. 



THE ANT AND THE CRICKET. 

A SILLY young Cricket, accustomed to sing 
Through the warm, sunny months of gay summer and 

spring, 
Began to complain, when he found that at home 
His cupboard was empty, and winter was come. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 31 

Not a crumb to be found 

On the snow-covered ground ; 

Not a flower could he see ; 

Not a leaf on a tree ; 
" 0, what will become," says the Cricket, " of me?" 
At last, by starvation and famine made bold. 
All dripping with wet, and all trembling with cold, 
Away he set off to a miserly Ant, 
To see if, to keep him alive, he w-ould grant 

Him shelter from rain, — 

A mouthful of grain. 

He wished only to borrow, 

He 'd repay it to-morrow ; 
If not, he must die of starvation and sorrow. 
Says the Ant to the Cricket, "I'm your servant and 

friend. 
But we Ants never borrow, we Ants never lend. 
But tell me, dear sir, did you lay nothing by 
When the weather was warm ?" 

Said the Cricket, " Not I ! 

My heart was so light. 

That I sang day and night, 

For all nature looked gay." 

" You sang, sir, you say? 
Go, then," says the Ant, " and dance winter away." 
Thus ending, he hastily lifted the wicket. 
And out of the door turned the poor little Cricket. 
Though this is a fable, the moral is good ; 
If you live without w^ork, you must go without food. 



32 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

WHAT I HATE TO SEE. 

I HATE to see an idle dunce, 
Who don't get up till eight, 

Come slowly moping into school, 
A half an hour too late. 

I hate to see his shabby dress ; 

The buttons off his clothes ; 
With blacking on his hands and face, 

Instead of on his shoes. 

I hate to see a scholar gape 
And yawn upon his seat, 

Or lay his head upon his desk, 
As if almost asleep. 

I hate to see him in his class 
Sit leaning on his neighbor, 

As if to hold himself upright 
Were such prodigious labor. 

I hate to see a boy so rude 

That one might think him raised 

In some wild region of the woods. 
And but half civilized. 

I hate to see a scholar's desk 
With toys and playthings full, 

As if to play with rattletraps 
Were all he did at school. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 33 

I hate to see a shabby book, 

With half the leaves torn out, 
And used as if its owner thought 

'T were made to toss about. 

And now I 've told you what I hate, 

I '11 only stop to say, 
Perhaps I '11 tell you what I love 

Upon some other day. 



MORNING THOUGHTS. 

When the morning, shining bright, 
Bids me through the meadows stray. 

While the lingering dews of night 
Make each leaf and blossom gay, 

Let me then, with footstep light. 
Hasten, and the call obey. 

And in every object find 

Some instruction for the mind. 

Ant, that still with willing pain 
Dost for the wintry hours prepare, 

Toiling at each weighty grain, 
Hoarding up the precious fare ; 

May it be ray aim to gain 
Future good with equal care. 

Nor through summer's sportive day 

Fling the passing hours away. 



34 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

Daisy, that at evening's close 
Holdest up thy modest flower, 

And, when gloomy darkness goes, 
Openest to the morning's power ; 

So may peaceful, sweet repose 
Meet me still at slumber's hour — 

So may I salute the day, 

Humble, pure, untroubled, gay. 

Thou that over all that live 
Makest gifts of mercy fall, 

That to some dost beauty give, 
Strength to others, good to all ; 

While thy power I thus perceive, 
And thy blessings still recall. 

Blameless may life's morning flee. 

And its evening be with thee ! 



LUCY'S LAMB. 

Lucy had a little lamb, 

Its fleece was white as snow, 

And everywhere that Lucy went, 
The lamb was sure to go. 

He followed her to school one day ; 

That was against the rule ; 
It made the children laugh and play, 

To see a lamb at school. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 35 

And so the Teacher turned him out ; 

But still he lingered near, 
And in the grass he fed about, 

Till Lucy did appear. 

To her he ran, and then he laid 

His head upon her arm. 
As if to say, " I 'm not afraid — 

You '11 shield me from all harm." 

" What makes the lamb love Lucy so?" 

The little children cried ; 
"0, Lucy loves the lamb, you know !" 

The Teacher quick replied. 

" If you, like Lucy, are but kind, 

And feed the lambs with grass. 
Their love and friendship, you will find, 

Are constant to the last." 



RETURN OF SPRINO. 

The pleasant Spring has come again, - 

Its voice is in the trees ; 
It speaks from every sunny glen ; 

It rides upon the breeze I 
The scattered flocks are lowing, 

'Neath every shady tree ; 
The gentle winds are blowing ; 

O, come I rejoice with me ! 



36 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

The pleasant Spring has come again, — 

I hear the river's roar ; 
It sparkles, foams, and leaps, as when 

My Summer skiif it bore ! 
Stern Winter's chain is rended ; 

The gashing founts are free ; 
And light with water blended 

Is dancing o'er the sea ! 

The pleasant Spring has come again, — 

All Nature's heart is glad ; 
The mountains look like giant men, 

And smile, with beauty clad ; 
The pretty flowers are springing 

In every greenwood shade. 
Their perfumes round them flinging, 

As sweet as Eden made. 

The pleasant Spring has come again, — 

The ploughman's songs arise, 
While woodland echoes mock, and then 

The thrilling cadence dies. 
The merry birds are singing ; 

Afar the music floats ; 
And every vale is ringing 

With soft and mellow notes. 

The pleasant Spring has come again, — 

Its voice is in the trees ; 
It speaks from every sunny glen ; 

It rides upon the breeze ! 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. ^37 

The pretty flowers are springing ; 

The gushing founts are free ; 
The merry birds are singing ; 

Let all rejoice with me ! 



PLACES FOR FRANK AND ME. 

Where the silvery pond is brightest, 
Where the lilies grow the whitest, 
Where the river meets the sea ; — 
That 's the place for Frank and me. 

Where the dovecot is the neatest. 
Where the blackbird sings the sweetest, 
Where the nestlings chirp and flee ; — 
That 's the place for Frank and me. 

Where the mowers mow the cleanest. 
Where the hay lies thick and greenest, 
Where is seen the homeward bee ; — 
That 's the place for Frank and me. 

Where the sunny bank is steepest, 
Where the cooling shade is deepest. 
Where the ripened nuts fall free ; — 
That 's the place for Frank and me. 

Why some boys should run away 
To many places, there to play, 
Or why they love the streets so well ; — 
That 's a thing I ne'er could tell. 



38 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



But this I know, — I love to play 
In the meadow, among the hay, 
Up the river, or by the sea, — 
Sweet places all for Frank and me. 



HOME. 



BY A LITTLE G-IKL ELEVEN YEARS OLD. 



When from my native rocks I stray. 
From social joys more dear than they, 
How oft my heart reproves the way 
That leads from Home. 

When anxious fears my mind assail, 
When cares perplex, and pleasures fail, 
Then to my heart how dear the tale 
That speaks of Home ! 

When day's intrusive cares are o'er, 
And evening comes with soothing power. 
How sweet to employ the pensive hour 
In thoughts of Home ! 

To think of all to us endeared, 
Of past delights, and friends revered, 
And all the social joys that cheered 
The hours at Home. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



39 



Then Fancy lends her brightest ray, 
And Hope illumes the future day 
That calls me from these scenes away 
To dearer Home. 

O ! then to hear, with pleasure wild, 
My parents' blessing on their child. 
And listen to the accents mild 

That welcome Home ! 

And, when life's busy day is o'er, 
And grief assails the heart no more, 
So shall we hail the peaceful shore 
Of our eternal Home. 

May He, who gives our little day. 
Support us through life's devious way, 
And then the parted soul convey 

To Heaven, its peaceful Home ! 



THE STARRY FIRMAMENT. 

The spacious firmament on high, 

With all the blue ethereal sky. 

And spangled heavens, a shining frame. 

Their great Original proclaim. 

The unwearied sun, from day to day, 

Does his Creator's power display, 

And publishes to every land 

The work of an Almighty Hand. 



40 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

Soon as the evening shades prevail, 
The moon takes up the wondrous tale, 
And, nightly, to the listening earth, 
Repeats the story of her birth ; 
Whilst all the stars that round her burn. 
And all the planets in their turn. 
Confirm the tidings, as they roll. 
And spread the truth from pole to pole. 

What though, in solemn silence, all 
Move round this dark terrestrial ball ; 
What though no real voice or sound 
Amid their radiant orbs be found ; 
In reason's ear they all rejoice. 
And utter forth a glorious voice. 
Forever singing, as they shine — 
The Hand that made us is divine. 



TRY — TRY AGAIN. 

'T IS a lesson you should heed, 

Try, try again ; 
If at first you don't succeed. 

Try, try again ; 
Then your courage should appear, 
For, if you M^ill persevere. 
You will conquer, never fear : 

Try, try again. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



41 



Once, or twice, though you should fail, 

Tr}/-, try again ; 
If you would, at last, prevail, 

Try, try again ; 
If we strive, 'tis no disgrace, 
Though we may not win the race ; 
What should you do in the case ? 

Try, try again. 

If you find your task is hard, 

Try, try again ; 
Time will bring yon your reward ; 

Try, try again ; 
All that other folks can do. 
Why, with patience, should not you? 
Only keep this rule in view — 

Try, try again. 



SONG OF THE SNOWBIRD. 

The ground was all covered with snow one day, 
And two little sisters were busy at play. 
When a snowbird was sitting close by on a tree, 
And merrily singing his chick-a-de-de. 

He had not been singing that tune very long. 
Ere Emily heard him , so loud was that song ; 
" sister ! look out of the window," said she, 
'' Here 's a dear little bird sing-inor chick-a-de-de. 



4* 



42 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

*^ Poor fellow ! he walks in the snow and the sleet, 
And has neither stockings nor shoes on his feet ! 
I pity him so — how cold he -must be ! 
And yet he keeps singing his chick-a-de-de. 

" If I were a bare-footed snowbird, I know 
I would not stay out in the cold and the snow ; 
I wonder w^hat makes him so full of his glee ? 
He 's all the time singing that chick-a-de~de. 

" mother ! do get him some stockings and shoes. 

And a nice little frock, and a hat if he choose ; 

I wish he 'd come into the parlor and see 

How warm we would make him, poor chick-a-de-de." 

The bird had flown down for some pieces of bread. 
And heard every word little Emily said ; 
" What a figure I 'd make in that dress !" thought he. 
And he laughed as he warbled his chick-a-de-de. 

'' I 'm grateful," said he, " for the wish you express, 
But I have no occasion for such a fine dress ; 
I had rather remain with my limbs all free. 
Than be hobbled about, singing chick-a-de-de. 

'' There is One, my dear child, though I cannot tell 

who. 
Has clothed me already, and warm enough too. 
Good morning ! O, who are so happy as we?" 
And away he went singing his chick-a-de-de. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 43 



THE LADY-BUG AND THE ANT. 

The Lady-bug sat in the rose's heart, 

And smiled with pride and scorn, 
As she saw a plain-dressed Ant go by, 

With a heavy grain of corn ; 
So she drew the curtains of damask round, 

And adjusted her silken vest, 
Making her glass of a drop of dew. 

That lay in the rose's breast. 

Then she laughed so loud, that the Ant looked up. 

And seeing her haughty face, 
Took no more notice, but travelled on 

At the same industrious pace : — 
But a sudden blast of Autumn came, 

And rudely swept the ground, 
And down the rose with the Lady-bug bent, 

And scattered its leaves around. 

Then the houseless Lady was much amazed, 

For she knew not where to go. 
And hoarse November's early blast 

Had brought with it rain and snow : 
Her wings were chilled, and her feet were cold. 

And she wished for the Ant's warm ceU, 
And what she did in the wintry snow 

I 'm sure I cannot tell. 



44 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

But the careful Ant was in her nest, 

With her little ones by her side ; 
She taught them all like herself to toil, 

Nor mind the sneer of pride ; 
And I thought, as I sat at the close of the day, 

Eating my bread and milk, 
It was wiser to work and improve my time. 

Than be idle and dress in silk. 



GRATITUDE. 

We come, great God, with gladness. 

Our humble thanks to bring ; 
With hearts yet free from sadness. 

Our hymns of praise we sing ; 
Fruits, flowers, for us are glowing 

In plenty round the land ; 
Like streams of bounty flowing. 

Come me^rcies from thy hand. 

Health, peace, and joy attend us. 

Kind friends are ever near. 
And thou, God, dost send us 

These gifts, these friends, so dear ; 
And still we, in our blindness. 

Enjoy, but disobey ; 
And yet thou, in thy kindness, 

Turn'st not these gifts away. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



45 



And now, in childhood's morning, 

Our hymns to thee we raise ; 
Thy love, our lives adorning, 

Shall fill our hearts with praise. 
Thy will henceforth, forever, 

Shall be our constant guide ; 
From that straight path may never 

Our footsteps turn aside. 



THE WAY TO BE HAPPY. 

How pleasant it is, at the end of the day, 

No follies to have to repent ; — 
To reflect on the past, and be able to say 

That my time has been properly spent. 
When I 've done all my work with patience and 
care. 

And been good, and obliging, and kind, 
I lie on my pillow, and sleep away there. 

With a happy and peaceable mind. 
But, instead of all this, if it must be confessed 

That I careless and idle have been, 
I he down as usual to go to my rest, 

But feel discontented within. 
Then as I don't like all the trouble I 've had, 

In future I '11 try to prevent it ; 
For I never am naughty without being sad. 

Or good without being contented. 



46 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

THE CLOSE OF THE DAY. 

The day is departed, and night has come on, — 
The beasts and the birds to their shelter are gone ; 
And children with weariness scarcely can keep 
Their senses from slumber, their eyelids from sleep. 

Ere darkness came over the eaTth like a cloud, 
I heard the sweet birds singing joyful and loud ; 
They seemed to my mind to be thanking the Lord, 
Who preserved and who fed them all day from his board. 

Shall praises be sung by the bird and the brute ? 
Shall the robin be tuneful, and children be mute. 
Who can see, feel, and speak ; while the blossoms and 

trees 
Bear life, health, and blessings on every breeze? 

No ! let not a head on its pillow be prest, 

No eyelid be closed, and no temple take rest, 

Till praises and prayers have been oflfered to Heaven, 

For the blessings of light and of life which are given. 



THE CHILD'S WISH. 

Mother, mother, the winds are at play, 
Prithee, let me be idle to-day. 
Look, dear mother, the flowers all lie 
Languidly under the bright blue sky. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



See how slowly the streamlet glides ; 
Look, how the violet roguishly hides ; 
Even the butterfly rests on the ros«, 
And scarcely sips the sweets as he goes. 

Poor Tray is asleep in the noonday sun, 
And the flies go about him one by one ; 
And pussy sits near, with a sleepy grace, 
Without ever thinking of washing her face. 

There flies a bird to a neighboring tree, 
But very lazily flieth he, 
And he sits and twitters a gentle note, 
And scarcely ruffles his little throat. 

You bid me be busy ; but, mother, hear 
How the humdrum grasshopper soundeth near, 
And the soft west wind is so light in its play 
It scarcely moves a leaf on the spray. 

I wish, 0, I wish I was yonder cloud, 

That sails about with its misty shroud ! 

Books and work I no more should see, 

And I'd come and float, dear mother, o'er thee. 



48 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



THE GREEDY FOX. 

On a winter's night, 

As the moon shone bright, 
Two foxes went out for prey ; 

As they trotted along, 

With frolic and song 
They cheered their weary way. 

Through the wood they went, 

But they could not scent 
A rabbit or goose astray ; 

But at length they came 

To some better game. 
In a farmer's barn by the way. 

On a roost there sat 

Some chickens, as fat 
As foxes could wish for their dinners ; 

So the prowlers found 

A hole by the ground, 
And they both went in, the sinners ! 

They both went in, 

With a squeeze and a grin. 

And the chickens were quickly killed ; 
And one of them lunched. 
And feasted, and munched. 

Till his stomach was fairly filled. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 49 

The other, more wise, 

Looked about with both eyes, 
And liardly would eat at all ; 

For as he came in. 

With a squeeze and a grin, 
He remarked that the hole w^as small ; 

And, the cunning- elf, 

He said to himself. 
If I eat too much, it 's plain, 

As the hole is small, 

I shall stick in the wall, 
And never get out again. 

Thus matters went on 

Till the night was gone. 
And the farmer came out with a pole ; 

The foxes both flew, 

And one went through. 
But the greedy one stuck in the hole. 

In the hole he stuck. 

So full was his pluck 
Of the chickens he had been eating — 

He could not get out. 

Or turn about. 
And so he was killed by beating. 



50 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



THE IDLE BOY. 

Thomas was an idle lad, 
And lounged about all day ; 

And though he many a lesson had, 
He minded nought but play. 

He only cared for top or ball, 
Or marbles, hoop, and kite ; 

But as for learning, that was all 
Neglected by him quite. 

In vain his mother's kind advice, 

In vain his master's care ; 
He followed every idle vice, 

And learned to curse and swear ! 

And think you, when he grew a man, 

He prospered in his ways? 
No ; wicked courses never can 

Bring good and happy days. 

Without a shilling in his purse. 

Or cot to call his own, 
Poor Thomas grew from bad to worse, 

And hardened as a stone. 

And, O ! it grieves me much to write 

His melancholy end ; 
Then let us leave the dreadful sight. 

And thoughts of pity lend. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 51 

But may we this important truth 

Observe and ever hold, — 
" All those who 're idle in their yovXh 

Will suffer when they 're oM." 



CLOSE OF TERM. , 

Our school-term is ended, 
Our studies are through, 

We '11 bid one another 
A friendly adieu. 

We all will part kindly, 
And leave school behind 

For other engagements 
To fill precious time. 

For we have grown weary 

Of sitting all day, 
With school-books before us. 

And rules to obey. 

But now we '11 be happy, 
And home we will haste, 

To pass the term gayly, — 
Each one to his taste. 

We '11 aid our dear parents. 
And then to our play, 

Thus finding enjoyment 
The long summer's day. 



0^ THE LITLLE SPEAKER. 



When vacation 's o'er, 
' We '11 return to our school, 
And firmly endeavor 
To obey every rule. 



CASABIANCA. 

Young Casabianca, a boy about thirteen years old, son to the 

- Admiral of the Orient, remained at his post (in the battle 

of the Nile) after the ship had taken fire, and all the guns 

had been abandoned, and perished in the explosion of the 

vessel, when the flames had reached the powder. 

The boy stood on the burning deck, 

Whence all but him had fled ; 
The flame that lit the battle's wreck 

Shone round him o'er the dead. 
Yet beautiful and bright he stood, 

As born to rule the storm ; 
A creature of heroic blood, 

A proud, though childlike, form. 
The flames rolled on — he would not go 

Without his father's word ; 
That father, faint in death below, 

His voice no longer heard. 
He called aloud — " Say, father, say, 

If yet my task is done ?" 
He knew not that the chieftain lay 

Unconscious of his son. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 53 

" Speak, father!" once again he cried, 

'' If I may yet be gone ! 
And " — but the booming shots replied, 

And fast the flames rolled on. 

Upon his brow he felt their breath, 

And in his waving hair, 
And looked, from that lone post, to death, 

In still, yet brave despair. 

And shouted but once more aloud — 

" My father ! must I stay?" 
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, 

The wreathing fires made way. 

They wrapped the ship in splendor wild, 

They caught the flag on high. 
And streamed above the gallant child, 

Like banners iii the sky. 

There came a burst of thunder sound — 
The boy — O ! where was he 1 * 

Ask of the winds that far around 
With fragments strewed the sea ; — 

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, 
That well had borne their part — 

But the noblest thing that perished there 
Was that young, faithful heart. 



54 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



THE CRICKET AND NIGHTINGALE. 

The Cricket to the Nightingale 

Once boasted of his song ; 
An insect who the same dull chirp 

Repeats the whole day long ! 
A boast like that before a bird 

Of harmony the queen ! 
One wonders how the noisy fright 

So foolish could have been. 

** I do not want admirers," 

Said the little silly thing ; 
'' For many folks in harvest time 

Will stop to hear me sing ; 
I do not want admirers, 

And many come from far." 
The Nightingale said, " Little one, 

Pray tell me who they are?" 

** The pretty bugs and beetles, sir, 

And surely you must know 
That they are very knowing ones, 

And here are ' all the go.' " 
" That may be very true," 

Replied the modest little bird, 
" But of their taste for music, 

I confess, I never heard. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



55 



"So take advice, my little friend, 

In future, be not vain, 
Nor anxious the applauses 

Of the ignorant to gain : 
Your music, for a Cricket, 

Is the best I ever knew ; 
But it is not quite a Nightingale's " 

And so away she flew. 



THE USE OF FLOWERS. 

God might have made the earth bring forth 
Enough for great and small, — 

The oak-tree and the cedar-tree, 
Without a flower at all. 

We might have had enough, enough 

For every want of ours. 
For luxury, medicine, and toil, 

And yet have had no flowers. 

The ore within the mountain mine 

Eequireth none to grow ; 
Nor doth it need the lotus-flower 

To make the river flow. 

The clouds might give abundant rain, 

And nightly dews might fall. 
And herb, that keepeth life in man, 

Might yet have drunk them all. 



56 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

Then, wherefore, wherefore, were they made, 

All dyed with rainbow light — 
All fashioned for supremest grace — 

Upspringing day and night : — 

Springing in valleys green and low, 

And on the mountains high. 
And in the silent wilderness. 

Where no man passeth by ? 

Our outward life requires them not — 
Then wherefore had they birth? 

To minister delight to man. 
To beautify the earth ; — 

To comfort man — to whisper hope, 

Whene'er his faith is dim ; 
For who so careth for the flowers^ 

Will much more care for him ! 



THE LITTLE COLT. 

Pray, how shall I, a little lad. 
In speaking make a figure? 

You are but jesting, I 'm afraid, 
Do wait till I am bigger. 

But since you wish to hear my part. 

And urge me to begin it, 
I '11 strive for praise with all my art. 

Though small my chance to win it. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 57 

I '11 tell a tale, how farmer John 

A little roan colt bred, sir, 
And every night and every morn 

He watered and he fed, sir. 

Said neighbor Joe to farmer John, 

You surely are a dolt, sir, 
To spend such daily care upon 

A little useless colt, sir. 

The farmer answered wondering Joe, 

*^ I bring my little roan up, 
Not for the good he now can do, 

But may do, when he 's grown up." 

The moral you may plainly see. 

To keep the tale from spoiling . 
The little colt, you think, is me, — 

I know it by your smiling. 

I now entreat you to excuse 

My lisping and my stammers ; 
And, since you've learned my parents' views, 

I '11 humbly make my manners. 



58 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

MUSIC. 

BY JAMES LOMBAED. 

There 's music in the little brooK, 
That sings so sweet and low 

To flowers that bend their tiny head, 
To see themselves below. 

There 's music in the cheerful note 
Of birds in yonder tree, — 

Their song is one continued strain 
Of pleasing melody. 

There 's music in the roaming breeze, 
That gently parts the hair, — 

In it we hear the voices of 
The cherished ones that were. 

There 's music in the drowsy tone 
Of the ^'little busy bee," 

Plumraing to the flowers all day 
A soothing lullaby. 

There 's music everywhere on earth. 
Where'er there 's joy or love ; 

It is a feeble echo from 
The spirit-land above. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



59 



VACATION. 

Vacation is coming, 

We all will be gay, 
To leave our worn school-books, 

For sports and for play. 

We '11 oiF to the country, 

To visit our friends, 
And spend our time finely 

Till vacation ends. 

We '11 roam o'er the fields 
To gather sweet flowers, 

And chase the bright songsters 
From bower to bower. 

But quickly time passes, 
Our play-hours will end, 

And back to the school-room 
Our footsteps must bend. 

And then to our studies 
We '11 cheerfully tend, 

Performing our duties. 

Thus please our dear friends. 

For all their kind efforts 
That we may improve, 

We will seek a report 
Deserving their love. 



60 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

THE FIGHTING BIRDS. 

Two little birds, in search of food, 

Flew o'er the fields, and skimmed the flood, — 

At last a worm they spy ; 
But who should take the prize they strove ; 
Their quarrel sounded through the grove 

In notes both shrill and high. 

But now, a hawk, whose piercing sight 

Had marked his prey, and watched their fight, 

With certain aim descended ; 
And pouncing on their furious strife, 
He stopped their battle with their life. 

And so the war was ended. 

Thus, when in discord brothers live, 
And frequent blows of anger give, 

With hate their bosoms rending ; 
In life, with rogues perchance they meet. 
To take advantage of their heat. 

Their lives in sorrow ending. 



THE POPPY. 

High on a bright and sunny bed 
A scarlet poppy grew ; 

And up it held its staring head. 
And held it out to view. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 61 

Yet no attention did it win 

By all these efforts made ; 
And less offensive had it been 

In some retired shade. 

For, though within its scarlet breast 

No sweet perfume was found, 
It seemed to think itself the best 

Of all the flowers around. 

From this may I a hint obtain, 

And take great care indeed, 
Lest I should grow as pert and vain 

As is this gaudy weed. 



THE VIOLET. 

Down in a green and shady bed 

A modest violet grew ; 
Its stalk was bent, it hung its head. 

As if to hide from view. 

And yet it was a lovely flower, 

Its colors bright and fair ; 
It might have graced a rosy bower, 

Instead of hiding there. 

Yet there it was content to bloom. 

In modest tints arrayed ; 
And there it spread its sweet perfume 

Within the silent shade. 



62 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

Then let me to the valley go, 
This pretty flower to see ; 

That I may also learn to grow 
In sweet humility. 



WORK AND PLAY. 

Poor children, who are all the day 

Allowed to wander out, 
And only waste their time in play, 

Or running wild about — 

Who do not any school attend. 

But idle as they wdll, 
Are almost certain in the end 

To come to something ill. 

Some play is good to make us strong, 
And school to make us wise ; 

But always play is very wrong, 
And what we should despise. 

There 's nothing w^orse than idleness 

For making children bad ; 
'T is sure to lead them to distress. 

And much that 's very sad. 

Sometimes they learn to lie and cheat. 
Sometimes to steal and swear ; 

These are the lessons in the street 
For those who idle there. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



63 



But how much better 'tis to learn 
To count, and spell, and read ! 

'Tis best to play and work in turn- 
'Tis very nice, indeed. 



INFINITE WISDOM. 

Who taught the bees, when first they take 
Their flight through flowery fields in spring, 

To mark their hives, and straight to make 
Their sure return, sweet stores to bring? 

Who taught the ant to bite the grains 
Of wheat, which, for her winter store, 

She buries, with unwearied pains. 
So careful that they grow no more 1 

Who taught the beavers to contrive 

Their huts, on banks so wisely planned. 

That in the winter they can dive 

From thfence, and shun their foes from land? 

Who taught the spider's curious art, 
Stretching from twig to twig her line, 

Strength'ning her web in every part, 
Sure and exact in her design ? 

Who taught the swallows when to take 
Their flight before chill winter comes ? 

The wren her curious nest to make 1 

The wand 'ring rooks to find their homes? 



64 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



The God whose work all nature is — 
Whose wisdom guides the vast design. 

Man sees but part ; but what he sees 
Tells him this wisdom is divine. 



THE SCHOOL FOR ME * 

It is not in the noisy street 

That pleasure 's often found ; 
It is not where the idle meet 
That purest joys abound. 
But where the faithful teacher stands, 

With firm but gentle rule ; 
0, that 's the happiest place for me — 
The pleasant common school ! 
O, the school-room ! 
O, that 's the place for me ! 
You '11 rarely find, go where you will, 
A happier set than we. 

We never mind the burning sun, 

We never mind the showers. 
We never mind the drifting snows. 

While life and health are ours ; 



* The chorus can be omitted, if the piece is spoken by one ; 
but it will be more interesting, if several will unite in speak- 
ing or singing the chorus. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 65 

But, when the merry school-bell throws 

Its welcome on the air, 
In spite of rain and drifting snows, 

You '11 always find us there. 
O, the school-room ! &c. 

The stamp that 's home on manhood's brow 

Is traced in early years ; 
The good or ill we 're doing now 

In future life appears ; 
And as our youthful hours we spend 

In study, toil, or play, 
We trust that each his aid may lend 

To cheer us on our way. 

0, the school-room ! &c. 



MY MOTHER. 

I MUST not tease my mother, 

For she is very kind, — 
And every thing she says to me 

I must directly mind. 
For when I was an infant. 

And could not speak or walk, 
She let me on her bosom sleep. 

And taught me how to talk. 

6* 



66 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

I must not tease my mother ; 

And when she wants to read, 
Or has the headache, I must step 

Most silently indeed. 
I will not choose a noisy play, 

Or trifling- troubles tell. 
But sit down quiet by her side, 

And try to make her well. 

I must not tease my mother ; 

She loves me all the day. 
And she has patience w^ith my faults, 

And teaches me to pray. 
How much I '11 try to please her 

She every hour shall see. 
For should she go away, or die, 

What would become of me 1 



THE LOST KITE. 

My kite ! my kite ! I We lost my kite ! 
O, when I saw the steady flight 
With which she gained her lofty height. 
How could I know that letting go 
That naughty string would bring so low 
My pretty, buoyant, darling kite. 
To pass forever out of sight 1 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



67 



A purple cloud was sailing by, 
With silver fringes, o'er the sky ; 
And then I thought it came so nigh, 
I 'd let my kite go up and light 
Upon its edge so soft and bright, 
To see how noble, high, and proud 
She 'd look while riding on a cloud ! 

As near her shining mark she drew, 

I clapped my hands ; the line slipped through 

My silly fingers ; and she flew 

Away ! away ! in airy play, 

Right over where the water lay. 

She veered, and fluttered, swung, and gave 

A plunge — then vanished with the wave ! 



I never more shall want to look 
On that false cloud, or on the brook ; 
Nor e'er to feel the breeze that took 
My dearest joy, thus to destroy 
The pastime of your happy boy. 
My kite ! my kite ! how sad to think 
She soared so hio-h. so soon to sink ! 



68 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



KINDNESS. 

Brothers and sisters, names so dear, 
Should sweetly sound in every ear ; 
And ties so strong should always be 
The link of love and harmony. 

When such relations disagree, 
Most sad the consequence must be ; 
For those who should be joined in heart 
Can never do so well apart. 

Did not our Saviour, chiding, say 
We should no faults to others lay, 
Or see a mote in brother's eye, 
Until to move our own we try 1 

Then let no quarrels interpose. 
To turn such kindred into foes ; 
Nor to each other raise a hand, 
Against the Lord's express command. 



USEFULNESS. 

How many ways the young may find 
To be of use, if so inclined ! 
How many services perform. 
If will and wishes are but warm ! 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 69 

Should wealth make all our comforts sure, 
We may be useful to the poor ; 
Though we have servants to attend, 
We may be useful to a friend. 

A life that 's spent for self alone, 
Can never be a useful one ; 
The truly active scorn to be 
Bat puppets in society. 

However trifling what we do, 
If a good purpose be in view, 
Although we should not meet success. 
Our own good-will is not the less. 



THE BOYS AND WOLF. 

Forth from an humble, happy cot 
Sped three fair, smiling boys, 

Full of life's sunny pleasantness 
And childhood's stainless joys. 

Far through the deep and darksome wood 
With fearless steps they roam. 

Gathering the fallen branch and bough, 
To light the hearth of home. 



70 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

With well-filled basket, back again 
They tread their grassy way, 

Beguiling time, and distance too, 
With some sweet, simple lay. 

But quick before their startled gaze, 
Lured by their gladsome shout, 

From the close covert of the trees 
A wolf sprung fiercely out. 

With glaring eyes, and shining teeth, 
The shaggy brute drew near. 

Checking the life-blood in their veins 
With horror and with fear. 

The eldest boy, with manly heart, 
Upraised his deadly knife. 

Shielding, with his own tiny form, 
Each little brother's life. 

The unequal strife had scarce begun. 
When through the wood there sped 

A vengeful ball — and at his feet 
The angry wolf lay dead. 

Trust ever to that guardian Power 
That watches for thy good, — 

And stretches forth a helping hand 
Even in the darksome wood. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



71 



ON EARLY RISING. 

How foolish they who lengthen night, 
And slumber in the morning light ! 
How sweet, at early morning's rise. 
To view the glories of the skies ! 

The sprightly lark, with artless lay, 
Proclaims the entrance of the day. 
Her fairest form then nature wears, 
And clad in brightest green appears. 

How sweet to breathe the gale's perfume, 
And feast the eyes with nature's bloom! 
Along the dewy lawn to rove. 
And hear the music of the grove ! 

Nor you, ye delicate and fair. 
Neglect to take the morning air ; 
This will your nerves with vigor brace, 
Improve and heighten every grace. 



'T will give your breath a rich perfume, 
Add to your cheeks a fairer bloom ; 
With lustre teach your eyes to glow, 
And health and cheerfulness bestow. 



72 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



AMBITION. 

I WOULD not wear the warrior's wreath ; 

I would not court his crown : 
For love and virtue sink beneath 

His dark and vengeful frown. 

I would not seek my fame to build 

On glory's dizzy height ; 
Her temple is with orphans filled, 

Blood soils her sceptre bright. 

I would not wear the diadem 

By folly prized so dear ; 
For want and woe have bought each gem, 

And every pearl 's a tear. 

I would not heap the golden chest, 

That sordid spirits crave ; 
For every grain (by penury curst) 

Is gathered from the grave. 

No ; let my wreath unsullied be — 
My fame be virtuous youth — 

My wealth be kindness, charity — 
My diadem be truth. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 73 



NATURE'S INSTRUCTIONS. 

The daily labors of the bee 

Awake my soul to industry. 

Who can observe the careful ant, 

And not provide for future want? 

My dog, the trustiest of his kind, 

With gratitude inflames my mind ! ■ 

I mark his true, his faithful way, 

And in my service copy Tray. 

In constancy and nuptial love, 

I learn my duty from the dove ; 

The hen, who from the chilly air 

With pious wing protects her care, 

And every fowl that flies at large, 

Instructs me in a parent's charge. 

From Nature, too, I take my rule, 

To shun contempt and ridicule. 

My tongue within my lips I rein, 

For who talks much, must talk in vain. 

Nor would I, with felonious flight, 

By stealth invade my neighbor's right. 

Rapacious animals we hate : 

Kites, hawks, and wolves deserve their fate. 

Do not we just abhorrence find 

Against the toad and serpent kind ? 

But envy, calumny, and spite 

Bear stronger venom in their bite. 



74 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

Thus every object of creation 
Can furnish hints for contemplation ; 
And from the most minute and meaa 
A virtuous mind can morals glean. 



DUTY. 

THAT it were my chief delight 
To do the things I ought ! 

Then let me try v^^ith all my might 
To mind what I am taught. 

Whenever I am told to go, 

I '11 cheerfully obey ; 
Nor w^ill I mind it much, although 

I leave a pretty play. 

When I am bid, I '11 freely bring 

Whatever I have got. 
And never touch a pretty thing 

If mother tells me not. 

When she permits me, I may tell 

About my little toys ; 
But if she 's busy, or unvrell, 

I must not make a noise. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 75 



And when I learn my hymns to say, 
And work, and read, and spell, 

I will not think about my play. 
But try and do it w^ell. 

For God looks down from heaven on high, 

Our actions to behold ; 
And he is pleased when children try 

To do as they are told. 



CHARLEY AND HIS SHILLING. 

Little Charley found a shilling, 
As he came from school one day ; 

^' Now," said he, " I '11 have a fortune, 
For I '11 plant it right away. 

'^ Nurse once told me, I remember, 

When a penny I had found. 
It w^ould grow and bear new pennies, 

If I put it in the ground. 

'' I '11 not say a word to mother, 
For I know she would be willing ; 

Home I '11 run, and in my garden 

Plant my precious, bright new shilling. 



76 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

^' Every day I '11 give it water, 
And I '11 weed it with great care, 

And I guess, before the winter, 
It will many shillings bear. 

" Then I '11 buy a horse and carriage, 
And a lot of splendid toys, 

And I '11 give a hundred shillings 
To poor little girls and boys." 

Thus deluded, little Charley 
Laid full many a splendid plan, 

As the little coin he planted, 
Wishing he were grown a man. 

Day by day he nursed and watched it. 

Thought of nothing else beside, 
Day by day was disappointed, 
. For no signs of growth he spied. 

Tired at last of hopeless waiting, — 
More than any child could bear, — 

Little Charley told his secret 
To his mother, in despair. 

Never was a kinder mother, 

But when his sad tale she heard, 

'Twas so funny, she, for laughing, 
Could not speak a single word. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



This was worse than all. for Charley 
Thought his sorrow too severe, 

x\nd, m spite of every elfort, 

Down his cheek there rolled a tear. 

This his tender mother spying, 

Kissed It olf before it fell ; 
'' Where to plant yonr bright new" shilling," 

Said she to him, *■ let me tell." 

'' Peter Brown's two little children 
Lono- have wished to learn to read, 

But their father is not able 

To procure the books they need. 

" To their use if you will spend it, 
Precious seed yon then may sow, 

And, ere many months are ended, 
Trust me, vou will see it s'row." 



THE SCHOOLFvOOjL 

In the scoolroom while we stay, 
There is work enouo-h to do ; 
Study, study, through the day. 
Keep our lessons all in view. 
There "sno time to Vv-aste or lose. 
Every moment we should use, 
For the hours are g-liding fast, 
Soon our school-days will be past. 



78 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



Here, then, let us early sow, 

While we 're in our opening youth, 

Seed that will take root and grow, 
Seed of knowledge, virtue, truth. 

For the time is coming, when 

Women we shall be, and men ; 

Then, 0, then, we '11 need it all, 

In discharging duty's call. 

Let us have a lively zeal 

In the school that we attend ; 

Interested always feel. 

And our influence to it lend. 

For with it we rise or fall, — 

Teacher, scholar, one and all ; 

Let us then united be 

For our school's prosperity. 



LAZY NED. 

*^ It 's royal fun," cried lazy Ned, 
*' To coast upon my fine new sled, 

And beat the other boys ; 
But then I cannot bear to climb 
The plaguy hill, for every time 

It more and more annoys !" 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 79 

So, while his schoolmates glided by, 
And gladly tugged up hill, to try 

Another merry race, 
Too indolent to share their plays, 
Ned was compelled to stand and gaze, 

While shivering in his place. 

Thus he would never take the pains 
To seek the prize that labor gains, 

Until the time had past ; 
For all his life, he dreaded still 
The silly bugbear of up-hill, 

And died a dunce at last. 



THE RETURN OF SPRING. 

Now Spring returns, and all the earth 

Is clad in cheerful green ; 
The heart of man is filled with mirth, 

And happiness is seen. 

The violet rears its modest head, 
To welcome in the Spring, 

And from its low and humble bed 
Doth sweetest odors bring. 

The birds are warbling in the groi'e, 

And flutter on the wing. 
And to their mates in notes of love 

Responsive echoes sing. 



80 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



Far as the eye can view, the hills 
Are clad in verdure bright ; 

The rivers and the trickling rills 
Are pleasant to the sight. 

Nature another aspect wears ; 

Stern Winter's reign is o'er ; 
While everything the power declares 

Of Him whom we adore. 



JACK FROST. 

Who hath killed the pretty flowers, 
Born and bred in summer bowers'? 
Who hath ta'en away their bloom? 
Who hath swept them to the tomb 1 
Jack Frost — Jack Frost. 

Who hath chased the birds so gay, 
Lark and linnet, all away 1 
Who hath hushed their joyous breath, 
And»made the woodland still as death? 
Jack Frost — Jack Frost. 

Who hath chilled the laughing river? 
Who doth make the old oak shiver? 
Who hath wrapped the world in snow ? 
Who doth make the wild winds blow ? 
Jack Frost — Jack Frost. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 81 


Who doth ride on snowy drift, 


When the night wind 's keen and swift — 


O'er the land and o'er the sea — 


Bent on mischief — who is he 1 


Jack Frost — Jack Frost. 


Who doth strike with icy dart 


The way-worn traveller to the heart? 


Who doth make the ocean wave — 


The seaman's home — the seaman's grave? 


Jack Frost — Jack Frost. 


Who doth prowl at midnight hour 


Like a thief around the door, 


Through each crack and crevice creeping, 


Through the very key-hole peeping ? 


Jack Frost — J ack Frost. 


Who doth pinch the traveller's toes? 


Who doth wring the schoolboy's nose ? 


Who doth make yoar fingers tingle? 


Who doth make the sleigh-bells jingle ? 


Jack Frost — Jack Frost. 



82 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



THE WHIP-POOR-WILL. 

There 's one among the feathered choir. 
Whose evening sonnet, loud and shrill, 

Touched off on nature's tuneful lyre, 
Proclaims the name of Whip-poor-will. 

I love to hear its pensive song. 

While musing on our clifF-crowned hill, 
To hear its echo wend along. 

To hear its echo — Whip-poor-will. 

How sweet, at sunset's beauteous hour, 
As chastened radiance lingers still, 

In rural cot, or summer's bower, 

To catch the sound of Whip-poor-will ! 

While rambling forth in twilight gray, 
Along the mead or leaping rill, 

How soft the notes on zephyrs play. 
The plaintive notes of Whip-poor-will ! 

Or, when the moon, fair queen of night. 
With pearly beams her horn shall fill, 

And pour on earth her silvery light, 

How sweet the tones of Whip-poor-will ! 

But there 's an eve, 't is holy rest. 

An hour which thoughts unearthly fill — 

O ! then thy vespers yield a rest, 

Thy thrilling vespers, Whip-poor-will. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 83 

And, as I muse on truth and heaven, 
The softened note comes sweeter still, 

Borne trembling- on the breath of even, 
The softened note of Whip-poor-will. 



LINES FOR AN EXHIBITION. 

Kind friends and dear parents, we v^elcome you here, 
To our nice pleasant schoolroom, and teachers so dear ; 
We wish but to show you how much we have learned. 
And how to our lessons our hearts have been turned. 

But we hope you '11 remember we all are quite young, 
And when we have spoken, recited, and sung-, 
You will pardon our blunders, which, as all are aware, 
May even extend to the President's chair. 

We seek your approval with hearty good will. 
And hope the good lessons our teachers instil 
May make us submissive, and gentle, and kind, 
As well as enlighten and strengthen the mind. 

For learning, we know, is more precious than gold, 
But the worth of the heart's jewels ne'er can be told ; 
We '11 strive, then, for virtue, truth, honor, and love, 
And thus lay up treasures in mansions above. 



84 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



Our life is a school-time ; and, till that shall end, 
With our Father in heaven for teacher and friend, 
! let us perform well each task that is given, 
Till our time of probation is ended in heaven. 



PERSEVERANCE. 

A SWALLOW, in the spring-. 
Came to our granary, and 'neath the eaves 
Essayed to make a nest, and there did bring 

Wet earth, and straw, and leaves. 

Day after day she toiled. 
With patient art ; but ere her work was crowned. 
Some sad mishap the tiny fabric spoiled, 

And dashed it to the ground. 

She found the ruin wrought ; 
But, not cast down, forth from the place she flew, 
And, with her mate, fresh earth and grasses brought, 

And built her nest anew. 

But, scarcely had she placed 
The last soft feather on its ample floor. 
When wicked hand, or chance, again laid waste, 

And WTOught the ruin o'er. 

But still her heart she kept. 
And toiled again ; — and, last night, hearing calls, 
I looked — and, lo ! three little swallows slept 

Within the earth-made walls. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 85 

What truth is here, O Man ! 
Hath Hope been smitten in its early dawn? 
Have douds o'ercast thy purpose, trust, or plan 1 

Have Faith, and struggle on ! 



THE HOME OF MY YOUTH. 

Between broad fields of wheat and corn 
l^s the lonely home where I was born ; 
The peach-tree leans against the wall, 
And the woodbine wanders over all ; 
There is the shaded doorway still, 
But a stranger^ s foot has crossed the sill. 

There is the barn — and, as of yore, 
I can smell the hay from the open door, 
And see the busy swallows throng, 
And hear the pewee's mournful song ; 
But the stranger comes — 0, painful proof! 
His sheaves are piled to the heated roof. 

There is the orchard — the very trees. 
Where my childhood knew long hours of ease, 
And watched the shadowy moments run. 
Till my life imbibed more shade than sun ; 
The awning from the bough still sweeps the air. 
But the stranger's children are swinging there. 



86 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

There bubbles the shady spring below, 

With the bulrush brook, where the hazels grow ; 

'T was there I found the calamus root, 

And watched the minnow^ poise and shoot, 

And heard the robin lave its wing ; 

But the stranger's bucket is at the spring. 



LIFE. 



Life 's a game of hide and seek ; 

What is sought but few can find, 
Be their purpose wise or weak, 

Fortune, fame, or peace of mind. 

Many, seeking for a friend, 
Thinking he is found at last, 

On some treacherous foe depend. 
Who their fondest hopes will blast. 

Some on fortune build their trust, 
And the joys it can impart ; 

Soon the treasures turn to dust. 
And the joys corrode the heart. 

Err not thus, my little girl ; 

Seek the good that may be found. 
Not in pleasure's giddy whirl. 

Not on fortune's fairy ground. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



Be what may thy earthly lot, 
Seek thou for the things above ; 

Seek the Friend that faileth not, 
And the treasures of His love. 



ADDRESS. 

Weeks have passed on, and months their roses shed. 
And some dear friends been numbered wdth the dead. 
Since last in these loved w^alls 't vv^as ours to trace 
The cheering smiles of each remembered face. 
Dear to our grateful hearts, to Science dear, 
Whom Learning loves, and Virtue bids revere. 

The flowers of summer, that were late in bloom. 

Have shed their leaves, and sought their wintry tomb ; 

The leaves of autumn tremble on the gale, 

And sighs of sadness steal along the vale. 

The harbingers of that more chilling hour 

When Charity's warm hand her gifts display, 

To chase the wants of misery away. 

Again you come your kindness to diffuse, 
To wake the genius of the slumbering muse. 
O'er learning's path to shed your welcome ray. 
To cheer young genius, brightening into day. 
To warm our hearts, to kindle proud desire, 
And bid our hopes to virtue's heights aspire. 



88 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

Your presence animates our youthful views, 
Your kindness aids us and our love renews. 
What shall I say ? — words linger on my tongue — 
Our Teacher's thanks, the praises of the young, 
Are yours, to-day, for benefits bestowed 
On learning's path and virtue's sacred road. 

While our best thanks are to your kindness due. 
Still be it ours improvement to pursue, 
To tread the paths of science and of truth. 
And add new virtue to advancing youth. 

While other nations mourn departing day. 
And weep in vain o'er learning's vanished ray, — 
While Greece looks out with half despairing eye. 
To hail the sun that warmed her elder sky, — 
While barren realms in desolation wait 
For some kind favors from according fate, — 
Here learning spreads her choicest treasures free 
Of present worth, and honors yet to be. 
May we partake the banquet she bestows. 
And drink the stream of science as it flows. 
May each advancing year our minds behold 
Advance in knowledge, and to worth unfold ; 
More gentle grow from pleasing day to day. 
And thus your kindness and your care repay. 

Our task is done — the lesson of to-day ! 
May the next lead us on a brighter way ; 
Each mental step rise higher from earth's sod. 
And the last bring us to the throne of God ! 



PART III. 



DIALOGUES. 



MENTAL IMPROVEMENT. 

Almira. 

Sure, my dear Mary, 'tis a pleasing scene. 
Where youthful virtue spreads its joys serene, 
When childhood strives in learning to improve. 
And follows science from esteem and love. 
In all the regions of terrestrial bliss, 
Where is the pleasure half so pure as this 1 

Mary. 

Yes, and how many children are denied 

The high advantages to us supplied ! — 

How many, doomed in ignorance to pine, 

Want charms that m.ake the soul still more divine ! 



8* 



90 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

Almira. 

Yet I am told that some are pleased to say, 
Our steps in learning's realm are led astray. 
There is no need, they say, that we should know 
How many oceans round this world may flow — 
How many brilliant planets, hung on high, 
Trace their bright orbits through the vaulted sky ; 
Nor will it help to boil our tea, we 're told. 
That we should know what causes heat and cold. 

Mary. 

Yet will it aid in many an untried scene, 
When doubts may press and troubles intervene, 
To know the philosophic cause of things. 
And whence each incident and error springs. 
If our young minds are with good learning stored. 
And all the aids that science can afford. 

Almira. 

Then must our friends admire, while they approve. 
That we make truth the object of our love. 
And take pure science and the gentle arts. 
Instead of vanity, to our young hearts. 

Mary. 

But most they say, our speaking has no use, 
And only serves to make our morals loose. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 91 



Almira. 



Nay, if it makes us more intent to please, 
Gives our minds freedom and our manners ease, 
For harder studies heightens our regard, 
With httle harm it brings a good reward. 

Mary. 

Then since our friends have sought so much to find 
The highest arts to store our youthful mind, 
! let us seek with grateful hearts to show 
How much we love, if not how much we know. 

Almira. 

Accept, then, guardians of our youthful minds, 
The thanks that real candor ever finds. 
'T is by your provident and fostering care 
That we the stores of worth and learning share. 
Then, Avhile we strive in science to excel, 
May we obtain the praise of doing well ; 
And, though in many things we fail to please, 
May all our future joys be pure as these ; 
May peace and pleasure to this life be given, 
And to the next the higher bliss of heaven. 



92 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



CHOICE OF HOURS. , 

Father. 

I LOVE to walk at twilight, 

When sunset nobly dies, 
And see the parting splendor 

That lightens up the skies, 
And call up old remembrances, 

Deep, dim as evening gloom, 
Or look to heaven's promises. 

Like starlight on a tomb. 

Laura. 

1 love the hour of darkness. 

When I give myself to sleep, 
And I think that holy angels 

Their watch around me keep. 
My dreams are light and happy. 

As I innocently lie, 
For my mother's kiss is on my cheek. 

And my father's step is nigh. 

Mary. 

I love the social afternoon, 
When lessons all are said. 

Geography is laid aside. 
And grammar put to bed ; 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 93 

Then a walk upon the Battery, 

With a friend, is very sweet, 
And some money for an ice-cream, 

To give that friend a treat. 

Mother. 

I love the Sabbath evening. 

When my loved ones sit around, 
And tell of all their feelings 

By hope and fancy crowned ; 
And though some plants are missing 

In that sweetly thoughtful hour, 
I would not call them back again 

To earth's decaying bower. 



WHAT IS MOST BEAUTIFUL? 

A Dialogue, for eight little Girls. 

Susan. 
The stars that gem the brow of night 
Are very beautiful and bright ; 
They look upon us, from the skies. 
With such serene and holy eyes, 
That I have fondly deemed them w^orlds 
Where Joy her banner never furls. 
What marvel, then, that I should love 
The stars that shine so brio-ht above? 



94 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



Ellen. 

The moon that sails serenely through 
The skies of evening, deeply blue, 
Perhaps half hidden from the eye 
By some dark cloud that wanders by, 
Yet shines with mellow light and pale. 
Like some fair face beneath a veil, 
Appears more beautiful to me 
Than all the stars I nightly see. 

Mary. 

The golden sun that rises bright. 
And dissipates the gloom of night, 
Is beautiful, and brighter far 
Than is the largest evening star ; 
Its light at morning, or at noon. 
Exceeds the brightness of the moon. 
The world indeed were very sad 
Without its beams so warm and glad. 

Hannah. 

The merry birds upon the wing, 
That all day long so sweetly sing. 
And, when the stilly evening comes, 
Are sleeping in their leafy homes. 
With plumage yellow, red, and gold. 
Are very pretty to behold. 
I love to listen to their airs — 
They drive away my gloomy cares. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



95 



Makia. 

The brooks that through the meadows go. 

And sing with voices sweet and low, 

Are beautiful to look upon, 

As gladly on their ways they ran ; 

The tiny fishes gayly swim 

Their bosoms fair and clear within, 

And flowers, that on their margins grow, 

Look down to see themselves below. 

Ann. 

The flowers that blossom everywhere, 
And with their fragrance scent the air, 
Are fairer than the birds or brooks, 
With their serene and modest looks ; 
And though they have no voices sweet, 
Like birds and brooks, our call to greet. 
Yet in their silence they reveal 
Such lessons as the heart can feel. 



Sarah. 

But there is something brighter far 
Than sun, or moon, or twinkhng star; 
And fairer than a bird or brook. 
Or floweret with its pleasant look : 
It is a simple little child. 
Whose heart is pure and undefiled ; 
And they who love their parents well 
In loveliness all things excel. 



96 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

Martha. 

The sun, the moon, the stars of night. 
And birds, and brooks, and blossoms bright, 
With richest charms are ever fall — 
With us they are the beautiful ; 
But little children, who are good. 
Whose tender feet have never stood 
In pathways by the sinful trod — 
They are the beautiful with God ! 



THE SEASONS. 
Jane. 

I LOVE the Spring, when slumbering buds 

Are wakened into birth ; 
When joy and gladness seem to run 

So freely o'er the earth. 

Charles. 

I love the Summer, when the flowers 

Look beautiful and bright ; 
When I can spend the leisure hours 

With hoop, and ball, and kite. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 97 

George. 

I love the Autumn, when the trees 

With fruit are bending low ; 
When I can reach the luscious plums 

That hang upon the bough. 

Frank. 

I love to have the Winter come, 

When I can skate, and slide, 
And hear the noise of merry sleighs 

That swiftly by us glide. 

Anna. 

I love the seasons in their round ; 

Each has delights for me ; 
Wisdom and love in all are found ; 

God's hand in each I see. 

Mother. 

You 're right, my child ; remember him, 

As seasons pass away. 
And each revolving year will bring 

You nearer heavenly day. 



98 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



CHILDREN'S WISHES. 

Susan. 

I WISH I was a little bird, 

Among the leaves to dwell ; 
To scale the sky in gladness, 

Or seek the lonely dell ; — 
My matin song should celebrate 

The glory of the earth, 
And my vesper hymn ring gladly 

With the trill of careless mirth. 

Emily. 

I wish I were a floweret. 

To blossom in the grove ; 
I 'd spread my opening leaflets 

Among the plants I love ; — 
No hand should roughly cull me, 

And bid my odors fly ; 
I silently would ope to life, 

And quietly would die. 

Jane. 

I wish I was a gold-fish. 
To seek the sunny wave. 

To part the gentle ripple. 
And 'mid its coolness lave ; 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 99 

I 'd glide through day delighted, 

Beneath the azure sky, 
And when night came on in softness, 

Seek the starlight's milder eye. 

Mother. 
Hush ! hush ! romantic prattlers ! 

You S:now not what you say. 
When soul, the crown of mortals, 

You would lightly throw away : 
What is the songster's warble. 

And the floweret's blush refined, 
To the noble thought of Deity 

Within your opening mind 1 



GENEROSITY. 

Brother. 
De^r sister, only look, and see 

This nice red apple I have here ; 
'Tis large enough for you and me. 

So come and help me eat it, dear ! 

Sister. 
No, brother, no I I should be glad. 

If you had more, to share with you, 
But only one — 't would be too bad ! 

Eat it alone, dear brother, do ! 



100 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



Brother. 

No, no ! there 's quite enough for two, 
And it would taste so much more sweet, 

If I should eat it, dear, with you — 
Do take a part now, I entreat ! 

Sister. * 

Well, so I will ! and when I get 
An apple sweet and nice like this, 

I 'm sure that I shall not forget 

To give you, dear, a fine large piece. 



THE ANGELS. 

Mary. 

Sister Emma, can you tell 
Where the holy angels dwell ? 
Is it very, very high. 
Up above the moon and sky ? 

Emma. 

Holy angels, sister dear. 
Dwell with little children here, 
Every night and every day ; 
With the good they always stay. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 101 

Maky. 

Yet I never see them come 
Never know when they go home, 
Never hear them speak to me — 
Sister dear, how can it be? 

Emma. 

Mary, did you never hear 
Something whisper in your ear, 
" Don't be naughty — never cry — 
God is looking from the sky !" 

Mary. 

Yes indeed ! and it must be 
That *s the way they talk to me ; 
Those are just the words they say, 
Many times in every day. 

Emma. 

And they kindly watch us, too, 
When the flowers are wet with dew ; 
When we are tired and go to sleep, 
Angels then our slumbers keep. 

Every night and every day. 
When we work and when we play. 
God s good angels watch us still, 
Keeping us from every ill. 



102 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



When we 're good, they 're glad ; 
When we 're naughty, they 're sad ; 
Should we very wicked grow, 
Then away from us they go. 

Mary. 

! I would not have them go, 

1 do love the angels so ; 
I will never naughty be. 

So they '11 always stay with me. 



ABOUT SCHOOL. 

Ellen. 

The sky is cloudless, sister, 
The balmy air is sweet. 

The echo gently murmurs 
Each word it would repeat. 

The clock is striking, sister. 
And we must leave this spot. 

To con dry lessons o'er, 
Which study-hours allot. 

But, 0, how pleasant, sister, 
If school-days were but o'er ! 

Then we again would never 
Learn these dry lessons more. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



103 



Anna. 
But we are young now, sister ; 

How little do we know ! 
We 'd wish to learn more, surely, 

Before we older grow. 

The birds are singing, sister. 

The balmy air is sweet ; 
We love its gentle breathing, 

And the songster's song to greet. 

But how long, think you, sister, 
Before we each should tire 

Of all these scenes of beauty 
Which now we so admire ? 

Do you remember, sister, 
What father said to-day — 

That study gave a relish. 
And sweeter made our play 1 

Then should we murmur, sister, 
Or yet in sadness grieve, 

Were we our pastimes ever 
For study called to leave ? 

Ellen. 

0, yes ! I see, now, sister, 
That all the fault was mine ; 

I thought not of the future, 
But of the present time. 



104 THE LITTLE SPEAKER . 

Yes, you are right, my sister, 
No more time we will lose ; 

To school, then, we will hasten, 
And there our time improve. 



LITTLE LUCY AND HER MOTHER. 

Lucy. 

MOTHER ! may I go to school 
With brother Charles to-day 1 

The air is very soft and cool — 
Do, mother, say I may. 

1 heard you say, a week ago. 

That I was growing fast ; 
I want to learn to read and sew — 
I 'm four years old and past. 

Mother. 

Well, little Lucy, you may go, 

If you will be quite stiU ; 
'Tis wrong to make a noise, you know- 

I do not think you will. 

Be sure and do what you are told ; 

And, when the school is done. 
Of brother Charley's hand take hold, 
^ And he will lead you home. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 105 

Lucy. 

Yes, mother, I will try to be, 

0, very good indeed ; 
I'll take the book you gave to me, 

And all the letters read. 

And I w^ill take my patchvi^ork, too, 

And try to learn to sew ; 
Please, mother, tie my bonnet blue. 

For it is time to go. 

[Exeunt, and Mary enters.] 

Mary. 

Perhaps the little girls and boys 

Will Uke to have me tell. 
If little Lucy made a noise. 

Or whether she did well. 

And I am very glad to say 

That Lucy sat quite still ; 
She did not whisper, laugh, or play, 

As naughty children will. 



108 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



WHO WATCHES OVER US? 

[The following may be read, spoken, or sung-, by two classes, 
alternately.] 

First Class. 
Little schoolmates, can you tell 
Who has kept us safe and well 
Through the watches of the night? — 
Brought us safe to see the light ? 

Second Class. 
Yes, it is our God does keep 
Little children while they sleep ; 
He has kept us safe from harm, 
Let us sleep so sweet and calm. 

First Class. 
Can you tell who gives us food. 
Clothes, and home, and parents good, 
Schoolmates dear, and teachers kind, 
Useful books, and active mind 1 

Second Class. 
Yes, our heavenly Father's care 
Gives us all we eat and wear ; 
All our books, and all our friends, 
God, in kindness, to us sends. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 107 

All. 

O, then, let us thankful be 
For his mercies large and free ! 
Every morning let us raise 
Our young voices in his praise. 



THE CREATOR. 



Marv. 



Mother, who made the sun and moon, 
Which give such pleasant light? 

To shine by day, the brighter one, 
The lesser one by night 1 

Who made the flower, the grass, the tree, 

The river, and the brook ? 
Who made the many things I see, 

Whene'er abroad I look ? 

Mother. 

'Twas God, my child, made all you see : 

He lives in heaven above ; 
The world is his — and you and me 

He looks upon in love. 



108 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

He holds the stars, the sun and moon, 
Each in their proper place ; 

He makes them shine at night, at noon, 
The emblems of his face. 

The river, and the rippling- brook, 
The trees, the grass, the flower, 

And all the things whereon we look, 
Came by his mighty power. 

Then learn, my child, this God to love, 
Whose mighty power you see — 

He sits enthroned in heaven above, 
God of Eternity ! 



THE EVENING STAR. 

Ellen. 

O MOTHER ! tell me of this star 

That every night I see. 
From its blue home, so high and far. 

Look brig-htly down on me ! 
Is it the kindly angel Power 

That is forever near. 
To guide and guard me in the hour 

Of danorer and of fear ? 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 109 

Is it the heaven to which we go 

When life is passed away ; 
Whose joys the good alone can know, 

Who love to watch and pray 1 
Or, is it some resplendent gem — 

Or, an archangel's eye 1 
Or, the glory of the diadem 

Of Him who rules the sky ? 

Mother. 

It is, my child, the evening star — 

One of the pure lights given 
To drive the gloomy darkness far, 

And beautify the even ! 
Less bright than gems that angels wear, 

'T is but a world like this ; 
And myriad beings wander there, 

Like us, in woe or bliss. 

Wait a brief time, till life is o'er, 

And you shall rise on high. 
And, with an angePs pinions, soar 

Through all the starry sky. 
If good and pure, till in death's night 

To slumber you lie down. 
Brighter than all those g-ems of light 

Shall be your starry crown ! 



10 



'10 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



GOING TO SCHOOL. 

Mother. 

Willie, it is half-past eight, 
And I fear you will be late ; 
Don't forget your teacher's rule ; 
Take your hat, and run to school. 

AViLLIE. 

Mother, I am tired to-day, 

Let me stay at home, I pray ; 

The air is warm, and close, and thick, 

And, really, I am almost sick. 

Mother. 

Your cheek is red, your eye is bright. 
Your hand is cool, your step is light ; 
At breakfast time you ate your fill — 
How can it be that you are ill ? 

Willie. 

True, mother, I 'm not ill enough 
To take my bed, or doctor's stuff; 
But yet at home pray let me stay, — 
I want to run about and play. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. Ill 

Mother. 

Ah ! that 's the thing. Now, let me see. 
Next June you nine years old will be ; 
And if you often stay at home, 
What of your learning will become 1 

Willie. 

But just this once — I shall not stay 
At home another single day ; 
I do not think 't will make a fool 
To st2iy just once away from school. 

Mother. 

Stay once, and it is very plain 
You '11 wish to do the same again ; 
I 've seen a little teazing dunce. 
Whose cry was always, Just this once ! 

Willie. 

A day 's but a short time, you know — 
I shall learn little, if I go ; 
Besides, I 've had no time at all 
To try my marbles and my ball. 

Mother. 

The bee gains little from a flower — 
A stone a day will raise a tower ; 
Yet the hive is filled, the tower is done. 
If steadily the work goes on. 



112 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



Have you forgot that weary day 

You stayed at home from school to play ? 

How often you went in and out, 

And how you fretted all about ? 

Then think how gay you laugh and run, 
When school is o'er, and w^ork is done ; 
There 's nothing fills the heart with joy 
Like doing as w^e should, my boy ! 

Willie. 

Yes, mother, you are right, 'tis plain ; 
I shall not ask to stay again ; 
I w^ill not — no, not even for once — 
Leave school for play, and be a dunce. 



THE TREE AND ITS FRUIT. 

Chaeles. 
Down in the garden, close by the wall, 
There stands a tree ; it is very tall — 
Its leaves are green — it seems to be, 
In every respect, a goodly tree. 

But I tasted its fruit — and, O, dear me ! 
I thought no more of that beautiful tree — 
The face that I made would have raised a laugh, 
For wormwood was never so bitter by half. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 113 

David. 

The tree, you will find, is known by its fruit, 
And not by its leaves, its branches, or root ; 
For often we see that trees outwardly fair 
The very quintessence of bitterness bear. 

And thus may we judge, by the actions of men, 
Of the heart that is hidden so deeply within ; 
By the actions, my friend, and not by the face, 
Or the beautiful language of sw^eetness and grace. 

Charles. 

Well, I think it is true ; but I never should dream 
That a tree could so much like a hypocrite seem ; 
Stretching out its green arms to the glorious sky. 
As though it were asking for wings to fly. 

And all the while, on its dark green boughs. 
Such crabbed, and bitter, and sour fruit grows ; 
I shudder to think of the taste that I took. 

And henceforth shall judge of the tree by its, fruit. 



10* 



114 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

THE PRETTIEST SIGHT. 

Mother and seven Children. 

MOTHERV 

Come, children, your mother is waiting for you, — 
Come one — come all ; and now tell me true, 
In the various places where you have been, 
Tlie prettiest sight that you ever have seen. 

John. 

Why, mother, I think the most beautiful sight 
Are the soldiers, all clad in their armor so bright, — 
The tall, waving plume, and the gay epaulette, 
Is the prettiest sight I have ever seen yet. 

Charles. 

They look well enough, brother Johnny ; but I 
Saw a 'prettier sight on the Fourth of July ; 
'Twas the circus-men riding their horses of gray — 
No soldiers were ever so pretty as they. 

Susan. 

Dear mother, I think the most beautiful sight 
Is the pure silver moon on a clear summer's night. 
With a host of bright stars, like the train of a (|ueen : 
'Tis the prettiest sight that I ever have seen. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 115 

William. 

I like the high mountain that kisses the sky, 

Where the eagle looks down with his dark, piercing eye ; 

x'Vnd I love the broad river, and cataract's roar. 

And the waves that roll up on the smooth, sandy shore. 

Bess. 

I v^^ent with two cents to buy dolly a dress, 
And what think I saw 1 I know you can't guess ; 
'T was a red sugar horse! such a beautiful one 
That I bought it, and ate it, — so now it is gone. 

Lucy. 

Well, mother, I think the most beautiful things 
Are the dear little birds, with their soft, shining wings ;, 
When they sing on the trees, and the branches are green, 
'Tis the prettiest sight that I ever have seen. 

Mary. 

I, too, love the notes of the dear little bird, 
But they are not the sweetest I ever have heard ; 
I am glad when they come to the tall green trees. 
But I think there are prettier sights than these. 

On a sweet Sabbath morning, so balmy and cool. 
To see children come to our own Sabbath-school, 
So constant as never a lesson to miss — 
I know of no prettier sight than this. 



116 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



All. 

Now, mother, dear mother, wherever you 've been, 
Pray tell us the prettiest sight you have seen. 

Mother. 

Well, children, your mother loves not to behold 
The soldier's bright armor that glitters like gold ; 
For she thinks of the holy commandment of God, 
That long since forbade us to shed human blood. 

And the poor circus-horses — I often have been 
Where there are far prettier sights to be seen ; 
But one thing I 'm sure, — if those horses could speak. 
We should find them ashamed of the company they keep. 

I think, with dear Susan, the moon in the sky, 
On a clear summer's night, presents to the eye 
A beautiful picture, displaying abroad 
The wonderful goodness and glory of God. 

And, William, my dear son, in the cataract's roar, 
And the waves that roll up on the smooth sandy shore. 
We see the great power of Him, in whose eye 
Not even a sparrow unnoticed shall die. 

And what shall I say to my dear little Bess, 
Who, spending her money, robbed doll of her dress? 
I think she has learned the good lesson to-day, 
That red sugar horses soon gallop away. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



117 



Yes, Lucy, the birds, with their soft, shining wings, 
Are annong our Creator's most glorious things ; 
Tiiey sing to His praise on the green waving trees ; — 
Let the children unite in anthems like these. 

Bat, children, your dear sister Mary is right — 
Mother never has seen a 7no)^e beautiful sight, 
On the sea or the sky, in the field or the wood, 
Than a circle of children all happy and good. 



THE WAY TO GAIN LOYE. 

Mary. O Sarah ! how I wish that a fairy 
would give me a charm that would cause every- 
body to love me ! 

Sarah. Why, Mary, are you not loved al- 
ready ? I am sure I love you. 

Mary. Yes, I know that you love me, and 
my parents love me ; but there are several girls 
in our school who say they do not like me, and I 
am sure I do not know why it is so. 

Sarah. I am sorry to hear you say so, Mary. 
Are you very certain that you have done nothing 
to induce them to dislike you ? 

Mary. I do not know that I have. 



118 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

Sarah, Are you always pleasant and kind; 
and do you try to oblige them and to assist them ? 

Mary. Why, I cannot say that I am always 
pleasant, for they sometimes vex me and make 
me angry. 

Sarah. Which, of all your schoolmates, do 
you love the best, Mary ? 

Mary. Why, Clara Jacobs, to he sure. 1 
Jove her more than any other, and I think all the 
scholars love her. I never heard any one speak 
against her. 

Sarah. Well, can you tell why you and 
others love Clara so much ? 

Mary. You would not ask that question if 
you knew her, Sarah. She is so kind, so amia- 
ble, and so gentle, that one cannot help loving 
her. I never saw her angry in my life, and I 
never heard her speak unkindly. She seems to 
love everybody, and she is loved by all. She 
is always cheerful and happy. 

Sarah. It seems, then, that Clara is a good 
girl, and beloved because she is good. Now, if 
you will imitate her, you will have as many 
friends as she has. Be kind, be pleasant, be 
obliging, be cheerful, and you will be happy, and 
be loved by all who know you. 



THE LITTLE SPEAXE?.. 119 

Mar 7/, Well, Sarah, I think there is some- 
thing in what you say, and I will henceforth tri/ 
to be and do as you advise ; and I hope I shaj] 
never complain if others do not love me, for I 
feel satisfied that, if I am disliked, it must be on 
account of some fault of my ovv'n. If I am truly 
good, I think I shall be truly happy. 

Sarah I think you are right there : and if 
you will only act accordingly, you will be one of 
the happiest and most beloved scholars in schoul. 

Mary. I will certainly try^ to do right, and I 
thank you for your kind and good advice. 



ABOUT ORDER. 

, Ellen. I wish you would lend me your thini- 
I ble, Eliza, for I cannot find mine, and I never can 
when I want it. 

Eliza. And why, Ellen, can you not find it ? 
Ellen. I am sure I cannot tell ; but you need 
not lend me yours unless you choose, for I can 
borrow of somebody else. 

Eliza. I am perfectly willing to lend it to 
you, Ellen ; but I should like to know why you 



120 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

always come to me to borrow, when you have 
lost anything"? 

Ellen. Because you never lose your things, 
and always know just where to find them. 

Eliza. And how do you think that I always 
know where to find my things ? 

Ellen. How can I tell ? If I knew, I might 
sometimes contrive to find my own. 

Eliza. I will tell you the secret, if you will 
hear it. It is this — I have a "place for every- 
thing, and keep everything in its place ;" and 
then I know just where to find anything I may 
wish to use. 

Ellen. Well, I never can find time to put iny 
things away ; and, besides, who wants, as soon 
as she has used a thing, to have to run and put 
it away, as though one's life depended upon it ? 

Eliza. Your life does not depend upon it, 
Ellen, bat your convenience does ; and let me 
ask, how much more time it will take to put a 
thing in its proper place, than to hunt after it 
w^hen it is lost, or to borrow of your friends ? 

Ellen. Well, Eliza, I will never borrow of 
you again, that is certain. 

Eliza. Why, I hope you are not offended. 

Ellen. Certainly not ; but I am ashamed, and 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



121 I 



am determined, henceforth, to adopt your rule, j 
I and '' ham a place for everythhig, and to keep \ 
\ ecerything in its place '^ \ 



HOW TO BE HAPPY. 

Ann. Lucy, where did you go yesterday af- 
ternoon ? 

Lucy. I went to visit my x\unt Walden, and 
did not return until this morning. 

Ann. Why, you made quite a visit. I think 
you must have had a good time. 

Tuucy. 0, yes ; I always have a good time 
when I go there, and I love to stay as long as I j 
can. j 

Ann. And why do you enjoy yourself so j 
much there, Lucy ? i 

Lucy. O, it is a very pleasant place. i 

Ann. I suppose they have a nice garden, with | 
fine fruit and iiovv^ers, and many other interest- 1 
inof thing-s. 

Lucy. Indeed they have ; but that is not what 
I care so much about. 



11 



122 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



Ann. What is it, then, that makes you so 
happy there ? 

Lucy. Why, they are so kind, and pleasant, 
and cheerful, that one cannot help feeling happy 
with them. I am sure you would love them, if 
you only knew them. 

Ann. I almost feel that I love them now. 

Lucy. They tell a great many interesting 
stories and sing songs ; and really I enjoy my 
visits there very much. 

Ann. What songs do you sing ? 

Lucy. Y^e sung a very pretty one this morn- 
ing about the sun while it was shining there so 
brightly. 

Ann. You don't think the sun shines brighter 
there than anywhere else, do you ? 

Liicy. It seemed so to me, although I knew 
it did not. 

Ann. I suppose it was because the song was 
about the sun. 

Lucy. Yes, I suppose it was. I do not mean 
to tell you anything that is not true; but, really, 
their puss Tabby and their dog Skip are the hap- 
piest animals I ever saw. 

Ann. They have not taught the cat and dog 
to love each other, have they? 



LITTLE SPEAKER. 123 



Lucy. All I can say is, that Tabby and Skip 
are very peaceful and loving in their way. 

Ann, It must be a delightful place. 

Lucy. I have often wondered, after being at 
Aunt Walden's, why everybody else cannot live 
in love and peace as they do. 

Ann. Well, what is the reason ? 

Lucy. It seems to me there is nothing to hin- 
der, if people only feel like it. 

Ann. That is easy enough, surely. 

LiLcy. Yes, and the wonder is, that when a 
thing is so easy and desirable, every one does not 
choose it. 



THE WORLD. 

Helen. Did you know, sister, that this world 
was round ? 

Sarah. Why, yes, Helen, I knew it a great 
while ago ; and it keeps turning round all the 
time, too. 

Helen. Where does it turn to ? I should 
think it would joggle sometimes so that we should 
feel it. 



124 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

Sarah. O, no, sis ; it goes right round in the 
air, and there is nothing for it to joggle against. 

Helen. I don't see what keeps it going. Don't 
it stop sometimes ? 

Sarah. O, no, it can't stop^ for mother says 
God keeps it moving along all the time. 

Helen. I should think he would get tired 
sometimes, and let it stop. 

Sarah. God is never tired, Helen ; mother 
says he can hold this world in his hand just as 
easy as I can hold an apple. 

Helen. Well, I should think he must be a 
very great God to do that. 

Sarah. He is a great God, and a good God, 
too. 

Helen. Did you ever see him, sister? 

Sarah. O, no, I never saw him ; but my Sun- 
day-school teacher says that v^e shall all see him 
when we die, as we shall go to heaven and live 
with him, if we are good. 

Helen. I think I shall be afraid of such a 
great being as you say God is. 

Sarah. No, we shall not be afraid, for God 
loves children ; and v^hen he takes them up to 
heaven, he makes tnem very happy. 

Helen. Then we ought to try to be very good. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 125 



SO that he may never be offended with us. I 
will pray to him every day, and ask him to lead 
me in the right way. 

Sarah. If you do so, Helen, he will surely 
guide you, and make you happy. 



TRUTHFULNESS AND HONESTY. 

Lizzie (alone.) There, it is almost school 
time, and I have not learned my lesson yet ; how 
provoking that I must go to school this morning ! 

Kate [enters.) Good morning, Lizzie ! Are 
you not going to school ? 

Lizzie. Yes, I suppose so; but I have not 
learned my lesson. 

Kate. O ! I am sorry. But why have n't you 
learned it ? 

Lizzie. Because I have not had any time ; 
but I know what I will do. 

Kate. Ah, that is the general excuse of school- 
girls, that they have n't had time to get their les- 
sons ; but what is it you are going to do ? I 
should think by your looks that you were going 
to do something very strange. 



11* 



126 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

Lizzie. Not so very strange either ; but can't 
you guess ? 

Kate. To be sure I can guess — but what is 
it ? I am not very good at guessing. 

Lizzie. Well, you know Jane Moore stands 
beside me in our class, and I shall get her to tell 
me. Bat to be on the sure side, I shall see what 
question is coming to me, and I shall learn the 
answer to that^ and if any other question comes 
to me, Jane can tell me. 

Kate. But perhaps Jane will not tell you, and 
then — 

Lizzie. 0, yes, she will ; for I shall carry her 
some apples, and then I know she will. 

Kate. But think a moment ; do you think that 
would be right? Should you ever dare look in 
your teacher's face again ? 

Lizzie. ! as to that, I should not let her 
find it out ? 

Kate. But should you feel happy, while you 
were deceiving your parents and teacher? 

Lizzie. 0! I do not intend to deceive my 
parents ; and, besides, if my mother would let 
me stay at home to-day, I should not deceive any 
one. 

Kate. But would your mother do right in 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 127 

letting you stay at home, if she knew your rea- 
son for wishing- to ? 

Lizzie. Why, no, — I don't suppose she would 
be doing right. 

Kate. Well, you do not wish your mother to 
do lorong, do you ? 

Lizzie. 0, no indeed ! 

Kate. You said a little while ago you did not 
intend to deceive your parents; but they suppose, 
of course, that you are learning your lessons in 
school, and reciting them properly, and if you do 
not, is it not deceiving them ? 

Lizzie. Why, yes ; but 1 never thought so 
before. 

Kate. Because you never thought about it, 
I suppose ; but I have one question more to ask 
you, and I wish you would answer it. Can you 
be happy if you deceive your teacher, by doing 
as you said you intended to do ? 

Lizzie. I will answer you truly, Kate. I shall 
not be happy, if I do so. When I go to school 
I will study my lesson all the time till my class 
recites, and then, if I have not learned it, I will 
tell our teacher the true reason, and learn the 
rest at recess or after school. 

Kate. Do so, dear Lizzie, and you will be 



128 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

much happier than if you deceived her. But, 
come, it is school time, and we must run along, 
or we shall be late. 



SPEAKING PIECES. 

Charles. I am glad to see you, dear Robert, 
for I want to talk with you about our school and 
teacher. 

Robert. Well, Charley, what have you to say 
about them ? Do you not think we have a pleas- 
ant school and kind teacher ? 

Charles. Why, yes, I do not know but that 
we have a good school and a pleasant teacher, 
but there are some things that I do not like, and 
I wish we did not have anything to do with them 
in our school. 

Robert. And what are those things which 
you dislike, Charles ? Perhaps it may be your 
own fault that you do not like them. 

Charles. One thing I dislike very much is 
'• speaking pieces ;" and you know our teacher 
wishes us to learn and speak some piece every 
week. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 129 

Robert. Well, Charles, why does she wish us 
to do so ? You speak as though she intended it 
as a jpunishment ; but have you never considered 
that she wishes it for our good ? Our teacher will 
never require us to do anything that will injure 
us, I am sure. 

Charles. I do not suppose she wishes to do us 
any harm, or to trouble us ; but really, I cannot 
see what good it will do us to declaim. 

Robert. I feel, Charles, that it will do us much 
good. In the first place, it will improve our minds 
and strengthen our memories to learn pieces; and 
then, if we speak with proper care, it will be of 
great benefit to us; — it will aid us in our read- 
ing lessons. 

CJiarles. Perhaps it may do a little good in 
these particulars ; but / can read well enough 
now. 

Robert. I fear you deceive yourself, Charles ; 
for I thiak there is not a scholar in school who 
reads well enough. It is not enough to be able 
to read fast and call the words rapidly. 

Charles. I should like to know, then, what 
you consider good reading. 

Robert. I think we should read slow, speak 
our words distinctly, and pay proper attention to 



130 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

the marks of punctuation, and give proper em- 
phasis and inflection. To read well, we should 
understand what we read, and feel an interest in 
it. Unless we feel interested ourselves, we shall 
not interest those who listen to us. If we com- 
mit a piece to memory, we shall be more likely to 
understand its meaning; and then we can better 
interest others in it. If you will learn a few 
pieces thoroughly^ and speak earnestly^ you will 
soon be pleased with this and all other exercises 
that our teacher requires. 

Charles. Well, Eobert, I know that you are 
generally right, and that I may safely follow your 
advice. I will therefore try to feel that speaking 
pieces is useful, and I hope I shall soon feel in- 
terested in it. 

Robert. You certainly imll, if you persevere, 
Charles. Only remember, " Whatever is worth 
doing at all, is worth doing well.'''' 

Charles. I think that is an excellent maxim ; 
and if we all remember it, and act accordingly, 
we shall do much better than we have done. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKEK. 131 



INDUSTRY PRO^IOTES HAPPINESS. 

Alice. 0, dear, dear ! how tired I am ! I wish I 
this work was done, and I could go and play. I 
don't think mother does right to make me sew so 
much. 

Ellen [enters.) Why, Alice, what are you 
scolding about? How can you look so cross this 
beautiful morning ? 

Alice. Well, I guess you would look cross, too, 
if you had to sew as much as I do ; it is nothing 
but work, w^ork, work, from morning till night. I 
am sure I don't see the use of all these stitches. 

Ellen. Neither do I, and I often tell mother 
so ; but she always says that people are not sent 
into the world to live idly, and that the more in- 
dustrious we are, the happier w^e shall be. For 
7ny part, I don't believe any such doctrine, and I 
never work when I can possibly help it. I would n't 
make such a slave of myself as Julia Adams does, 
for all California. Why, you never see her at 
home without a needle in her hand. 

Julia (enters.) O, no, girls ! you are quite 
mistaken there; — I have plenty of time to eat, 
and sleep, and play, and read. 



132 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



Alice, Why, Julia, where did you come from, 
and how long have you been here ? 

Julia. Only a few minutes ; but you were 
talking so earnestly, that I did n't like to inter- 
rupt you till I heard my own name mentioned, 
and then I thought it time to interfere. And, in 
the first place, Ellen, I want to know what au- 
thority you have for saying that I make a slave 
of myself. 

Ellen, Why, you are always sewing, — morn- 
ing, noon, and night, when you are not in school, 
— and if that is not making one's self a slave, I 
don't know what is. 

Julia. Well, I 7nust say, that if the slaves, 
that people talk of so much now-a-days, have as 
easy and happy a life as I do, I don't see the use 
of making such a fuss about them. I only sew 
four hours a day, and very pleasant hours they 
are, too ; for mother sits with me, and we have 
such nice talks. 

Alice. Four hours a day! Why, I shouldn't 
think you could find work enough to do in all 
that time. 

Julia. My dear Alice, if you had gone where 
I went the other day, you would not wonder that 
I can find work enouofh. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 133 

Ellen. Where \Yas it, Julia ? Do tell us about 
it. 

Julia. I will, Ellen, if you and Alice will 
promise to go with me to the same place to-mor- 
row. 

Ellen. Well, I promise; don't you, Alice ? 

Alice. Certainly, for I am all curiosity to hear 
Julia's story. 

Julia. ! it is not much of a story, and per- 
haps you will not be as much interested in it as 
I was ; but at any rate, it is true. I was walking 
with mother last Monday, when we met a little 
ragged girl crying bitterly. Mother stopped and 
asked what was the matter. She said that her 
mother was very sick, and she was afraid she 
would die. Mother asked her to show us Avhere 
she lived, and we followed her to an old house 
near the bridge. The room into which she led 
us was the most miserable place I ever saw. It 
had hardly any furniture except an old bedstead 
and two or three chairs. The poor woman was 
lying on the bed, and two little girls were stand- 
ing beside her. IMother spoke to her about her 
sickness ; and she said she had worked very hard 
lately, and that morning, in trying to get up, had 
fainted; "but," said she, "if I cannot work, mv 



12 



134 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



children must starve." We were there some time ; 
and before we came away, mother told her that 
she would see that she was made comfortable, and 
asked if she would not like to send her children 
to school. " O, yes!" said she, "but they have 
nothing decent to wear." Only think of it ! they 
could not go to school because they had nothing 
but rags to wear. When we came home, mother 
told me that, if I would like to, I might make 
some dresses for them. So she has cut them 
out, and by to-morrow I shall finish them ; and 
I do long for to-morrow, the little girls will be so 
pleased with their new dresses. Mother has 
been to see them since, and she says the woman 
is better, and the children are delighted at the 
idea of going to school. 

Ellen. How many of them are there, Julia ? 

Julia. There are three girls and one boy. 

Ellen. O I I wish I could do somethino: for 

o 

them. 

Alice. So do I. Poor little things, how I pity 
them ! I will never be so wicked again, as to 
think there is nothing for me to do. 

Julia. Well, girls, I will tell you what we can 
do. We will ask our mothers to cut out some 
little dresses and aprons, and then we will meet 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 135 

together and work ; for mother says there are a 
great many people as poor and ragged as those I 
have told you about. 

Ellen. I should like to do so very much ; and 
I know mother will be willing, for she often says 
she wishes I was more industrious. 

Alice. I agree to it with all my heart; and I 
think we might begin this very day, don't you ? 

Julia. Yes; and if you will both come to 
our house this afternoon, I will have so me work 
ready ; and to-morrow we will all go to see the 
poor woman. So good-by, and don't forget to 
come. 

Alice. No, indeed, I guess I shan't. 

Ellen. Nor I. 

Both. Good-morninof, Julia ! 



THE LITTLE PHILOSOPHER. 

Mr. L. [looking at the hoy, and admiring his 
ruddy, cheerful countenance.) I thank you, my 
good lad ! you have caught my horse very clev- 
erly. AYhat shall I give you for your trouble ? 
(Putting his liand into his pocket.) 



136 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



Boy. I want nothing, sir. 

Mr. L. Don't you ? so much the better for 
you. Few men can say as much. Bat pray 
what were you doing in the field ? 

Boy. I was rooting up weeds, and tending 
the sheep that are feeding on the turnips, and 
keeping the crows from the corn. 

Mr. L. And do you like this employment ? 

Boy. Yes, sir, very well, this fine weather. 

Mr. L. But had you not rather play ? 

Boy. This is not hard work ; it is almost as 
good as play. 

Mr. L. Who sent you to work ? 

Boy. My father, sir. 

Mr. L. Where does he live ? 

Boy. Just by, among the trees there, sir, 

Mr. L. What is his name ? 

Boy. Thomas Hurdle, sir. 

Mr. L. And what is yours ? 

Boy. Peter, sir. 

Mr. L. How old are you ? 

Boy. I shall be eight at Michaelmas. 

Mr. L. How long have you been out in this 
field? 

Boy. Ever since six in the morning, sir. 

Mr. L. And are you not hungry ? 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 137 

Boy. Yes, sir ; I shall go to my dinner soon. 

Mr. L. If you had sixpence now, what would 
you do with it? 

Boy. I don't know ; I never had so much in 
my Hfe. 

Mr. L. Have you no playthings ? 

Boy. Flaythings ! what are they ? 

Mr. L. Such as balls, ninepins, marbles, tops, 
and wooden horses. 

Boy. No, sir ; but our Tom makes footballs 
to kick in cold weather, and we set traps for 
birds ; and then I have a jumping-pole, and a 
pair of stilts to walk through the dirt with ; and 
I had a hoop, but it is broken. 

Mr. L. And do you want nothing else ? 

Boy. No, sir; I have hardly time for those ; 
for I always ride the horses to the field, and 
bring up the cows, and run to the town on er- 
rands ; and these are as good as play, you know. 

3Ir. L. Well, but you could buy apples or 
gingerbread at the town, I suppose, if you had 
money. 

Boy. ! I can get apples at home ; and as 
for gingerbread, I don't mind it much, for my 
mother gives me a piece of pie, now and then, 
and that is as good. 



1 



12* 



138 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



Mr, L. Would you not like a knife to cut 
sticks ? 

Boy. I have one — here it is ; — brother Tom 
gave it to me. 

Mr, L, Your shoes are full of holes — don't 
you v^ant a better pair ? 

Boy. I have a better pair for Sundays. 

Mr. L. But these let in water. 

Boy. I don't care for that ; they let it out 
again. 

Mr. L. Your hat is all torn, too. 

Boy. I have a better hat at home ; but I 
had as lief have none at all, for it hurts my 
head. 

Mr. L. What do you do when it rains ? 

Boy. If it rains very hard, I get under the 
hedge till it is over. 

Mr. L. What do you do when you are hun- 
gry before it is time to go home ? 

Boy. I sometimes eat a raw turnip. 

Mr. L. But if there are none ? 

Boy. Then I do as well as I can ; I work on, 
and never think of it. 

3Ir. L. Are you not thirsty sometimes, this 
hot weather ? 

Boy. Yes, sir ; but there is water enough. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 139 

Mr. L, Why, my little fellow, you are quite 
a philosopher. 

Boy. Sir ? 

Mr. L. I say you are a philosopher; but 1 
am sure you do not know what that means. 

Boy. No, sir, — no harm, I hope. 

Mr. L. No, no ! ^Yell, my boy, you seem 
to want nothing at all ; so I shall not give you 
money, to make you w^ant anything. But were 
you ever at school ? 

Boy. No, sir ; but father says I shall go after 
harvest. 

Mr. L. You w^ill want books, then. 

Boy. Yes, sir ; the boys have all a spelling- 
book and a Testament. 

Mr. L. Well, then, I will give you them — 
tell your father so ; and that it is because I 
thought you a very good, contented boy. So, 
now go to your sheep again. 

Boy. I will, sir. — Thank you. 

Mr. L. Good-by, Peter ! 

Boy. Good-by, sir ! 



140 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



ABOUT THINKING. 

Ediohi. Alfred ! stop for a moment, will you ? 
I wish to talk a little with you. 

Alfred, I cannot stop now, Edwin, for I wish 
to have a run with my hoop. 

Edioin. You have a nice hoop, and it runs 
along capitally. Can you tell me what makes it 
go so well? 

Alfred, To be sure I can, Edwin. M}^ stick 
makes it go ; and the harder I strike it, the faster 
it goes. 

Edivin. Well, hit this post as hard as you 
like with your stick, and see if that will move 
along. 

Alfred. To be sure it will not, for it is stuck 
fast in the ground. 

Edioin. But there is one yonder that lies on 
the ground : hit that, and see if it will run along 
like your hoop. 

Alfred, I know it will not, because it is so 
heavy. 

Edwin. Well, then, here is my pocket-hand- 
kerchief; let us see if you can make that roll 
alongc Surely that will not be too heavy. 



'^^ 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 141 

Alfred. That will be too light; it will not 
run along at all. 

Edwin, You seem hard to please. The post 
is too heavy ^ and the handkerchief too light ! 
Suppose I put a big stone into the handkerchief, 
and make it heavier, — will that do ? 

Alfred. Why, no ! 

Edwin. But why not, Alfred ? 

Alfred. Why, because — because — because 
— why, I know it will not. 

Edwin. Can you not give me the reason why 
it will not run along at all ? 

Alfred. No, I cannot ; for I never thought 
of it. 

Edwin. That is the trouble with us boys, — 
we seldom think about anything, but our play, 
unless we are obliged to do it. But I have late- 
ly been learning to think. 

Alfred. Learning to think I why, I never 
heard of such a thing ! 

Edivin. I only wish I had begun years ago : 
for I have really learned more the last three 
months than I did in all last year, I am sure. 

Alfred. But where is the good of learning to 
think ? 

Edwin. Where is the good ? — what a strange 



142 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

question that is ! But I dare say I should have 
asked it myself three months ago. If people 
had not thought about things, we should never 
have had the comforts and pleasures we now en- 
joy. The food we eat, the clothes we wear, the 
houses we live in, and even our plays, have all 
been the subjects of much thought. Thinking 
people have a great advantage over others ; they 
are much wiser. 

Alfred. Well, Edwin, I am not certain but 
that you have formed a good resolution ; and 
hereafter I will endeavor to spend some of my 
time in thinking. 



THE GOOD BOY AND THE TRUANT. 

Joh7i. Hallo ! James ! where are you going ? 

James. Why, I am going to school, to be sure, 
and I am in a great hurry, too ; for it is most 
time for the bell to ring, and I have not been 
tardy this term, and do not mean to be. 

John. Why, how mighty particular you are ! 
I am glad I am not so afraid of being a minute 
late. I don't see any use of being in a hurry. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 143 

Come, go with me, and we will have a grand 
time. 

James. Where are you going? 

John. O ! I am going into the woods, to get 
some nuts. Come, it won't hurt you to play 
truant for once in your life. You don't know 
how the boys laugh at you for being so good. 

James. Well, let them laugh ; I am not afraid 
of being laughed at. I should be more afraid of 
disobeying my mother, and displeasing my kind 
teacher. 

John. Well, if you are not the strangest boy 
that I ever saw ! Why, J'd rather be whipped, 
any day, than to be laughed at. 

JaTues. That is very foolish ; how can their 
laughing hurt you? And, beside, if they see 
that you don't care for it, they will soon stop. 
But I cannot stay any longer. You had better 
come to school, and you will feel much happier 
at night for having done your duty. [Moves off.) 

John. Do hold on a bit ! you seem to be in a 
dreadful hurry. Look here, don't you tell that I 
am playing truant ; for if you do, I shall get a 
whipping. 

James. No, John, I '11 not tell of you ; but if 
vou will come to school, we will have a nice 



144 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

game at ball at recess, and this afternoon there 
will be no school, and then I will go with you to 
get the nuts. 

John. Will you ? Well, I have half a mind 
to go to school. 

James. O, do ! I shall be so glad to have you ! 
Come, let 's run, for there is the bell, and you 
know how pleased our teacher is when we are 
in good season. 

John. I wonder if every boy is as happy when 
he does right as you seem to be. 

James. Why, yes, I suppose so; for I am al- 
ways unhappy when I do wrong. 

John. Well, I suppose / am, although I 
always try to thhik I 'm happy. I believe I will 
follow your example for a little while, and see 
how I feel. 

James. Then mark my words, — you will save 
yourself much unhappiness. 

John. I believe I shall, for it seems to me I 
am now happier for having taken the first step. 

James. Well, here we are at school — so we 
cannot talk any more now. 

John. I am glad I came ; and I thank you for 
your good advice, which I shall try to follow. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 145 



INDOLENCE WILL BRING WANT. 

Susan. Dear Emily, do tell me about my les- 
son once more, for I can never get it alone. 

Emily. But ivhy have you not learned it? 
Have you studied it diligently ? 

Susan. Why, no ; I can never leave my play 
to waste time over a dull lesson, I am sure. 

Emily. Why, Susan ! how can you speak 
so ? Which do you consider most important, 
your lessons or your play ? 

Susan. O, the lessons, I suppose I must say ! 
But then I like play the best, and only wish I 
could play all the time. 

Emily. But you will not be able to play al- 
ways ; and what will you do when you cannot 
play? 

Susan. Why, when it comes to that, 1 will 
study or work. 

Emily. But you will not know how; and, 
when you are grown up, you will be ashamed to 
learn as children do. 

Susan. It will be time enough to think of 
that when the time comes; but now I mean to 
enjoy myself. 



13 



-^ 



146 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

Emihj. You had better think of it now. But 
let me tell you a story. "Ants, you know, 
are very industrious little creatures, and work 
hard in summer to lay up their winter stores. 
But grasshoppers do no work in summer, and die 
when winter comes. Well, a grasshopper once 
asked an ant to give him some food to keep him 
from starving. ' What did you do all summer,' 
said the ant, ' that you have nothing to eat now? ' 
* I sang and amused myself,' said the grasshop- 
per. ' You sang ! ' said the ant ; * well, now you 
may go and dance .'' " 

Susan. Then you think I am like the grass- 
hopper, do you ? 

Emily. Yes, but I will be more kind than the 
ant, for I will assist you this once ; but hereafter 
I hope you will do your work, and learn your 
lessons, without the aid of any one. 



ABOUT STUDY. 

Ella. Are you not going to school this morn- 
ing, Maria? 

Maria. No, I do not like to go to school, and, 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 147 

besides, it does me no good. I am going to stay 
at home to-day. 

Ella, Did your mother say that you might ? 

Maria. No ; but she always lets me stay at 
home whenever I want to. When I learn a les- 
son, it always goes in at one ear and goes out at 
the other ; and that is all the good it does me. 

Ella. That is because you do not ^:l your 
attention upon it. 

Maria. Well, I cannot fix my attention upon 
it, and I have quite despaired of ever being as 
good a scholar as you are. But there is on^ 
study that I cannot g^t^ and nobody can ever 
make me understand or like it, and that is Arith- 
metic. I am sure I shall miss on the next les- 
son, for I cannot get it. 

Ella. What is the lesson ? 

Maria. Well, you pretend to be so good a 
scholar, but yet you do not know where our les- 
sons are. 

Ella. But you know, Maria, that I have just 
been put into a higher class, and do not get the 
same lessons that you do. 

Maria. O, dear ! you are always getting into 
higher classes, while I have to stay in one class 
for years, and study hard, and then I do not 



148 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

know any more for it. Well, the lesson is in 
Addition. 

Ella. O, that is very easy ! and if you will 
come to my house to-morrow afternoon, I think I 
can soon make you understand it. 

Maria. Well, bat Geography is even worse 
than Arithmetic. I am always sorry when 
Wednesday comes, for I am sure to miss ; and 
our teacher gives us such long lessons ; it is too 
bad. 

Ella. When do you generally begin to get 
your Geography lesson ? 

Maria. O, I generally begin to get it Wednes- 
day morning. 

Ella. Well, my plan is to learn a part of it 
every day, and I seldom miss; and my advice to 
you is to do the same. Will you try ? 

Maria. Yes ; and I do not know but you are 
right in saying that study is of some use. If 
it were not too late for me to prepare for school 
now, I would go ; but I will go this afternoon, 

Ella. I am glad to hear you say so ; and I 
think you will soon begin to like study and school. 
But do not forget to come to-morrow, so that I 
can show you how to get your Arithmetic lesson. 

Maria. I certainly will not. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 149 



JOHN HASTY AND PETER QUIET. 

John {holding a broken string). That's just 
my luck ! If I look at a string, it will break ! 
But with you, Peter, it is different; everything 
slips smoothly through your hands ; but only let 
me touch a thing, and it is crack ! smash ! break ! 
Mother says I make more trouble about the house 
than all ten of the children besides; but I can't 
help it. 

Peter. But did you ever try to help it, John ? 

John Try I What 's the use of trying ? I tell 
you that I am one of the unlucky ones, Peter. 
Only yesterday, as I sat down to dinner, a fish- 
hook, that I had in my pocket, must needs stick 
itself into sister Susan's dress. I gave a sudden 
jerk to get it out, and rip ! went her sleeve, and 
smash ! went my plate, and poor I was ordered 
away from the table, and lost my dinner. 

Peter. Losing your dinner is nothing to what 
you will lose, John, if you drive through the 
world in this style. I see that your new garden 
rake has lost five teeth; how happened that? 

John. Why, they were all extracted at " one 



13* 



150 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



sitting," and that without taking the fluid, either. 
You see, I was raking, and came across a snag ; 
I gave a twitch^ and out came the teeth. 

Peter. And the beautiful new book, presented 
to you by your uncle Charles — I notice that 
some of the leaves are torn. 

John. Well, that 's my luck again. I found 
some leaves whole at the top, and, being in a 
great hurry to read what was on the other side, 
I gave my knife a sudden pull, and, being dull, 
it tore the leaves, instead of cutting them. 

Peter. Well, really, John, it appears to me 
that whatever falls in your way is unlucky. 
You must have a great deal of trouble ; but I 
think most of it is the result of your own care- 
lessness. I will give you two short words, which, 
if always kept in mind and obeyed, will make 
you a lucky boy. 

John. What are they ? If two words can 
make me lucky, I ought to have known them 
before. 

Peter. Well, it is not too late to know them 
now. They are simply these — " Keep cool.^^ 

John. Keep cool ! I guess, if you had seen 
me the other day, when the ice broke and let me 
into the water, you would have thought I was 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 151 

cool enough not to need your counsel. I was so 
cool that I came near freezing. 

Peter. You are disposed to be witty, John ; 
but let me say, that, unless you exercise more 
care, you will have trouble all the days of your 
life. 

John. Well, well, Peter, I will consider what 
you have said when I have time; but just now 
I aiTL in a great hurry. Good-by ! 

Peter, Good-by, John ! Keep cool I 



SCHOOL PROMOTES HAPPINESS. 

Lucy. Good morning, Sarah ! Where are 
you going so fast ? 

Sarah. 0, I am going to school, and I must 
not stop long, or I shall be late, and displease my 
kind teacher. 

Lucy. Poor girl ! how I pity you, shut up in 
a dull school-room all this long summer's day ! 
Don't you envy me, who have nothing to do but 
to play ? 

SaroJi. No, indeed ! I should n't know what 



152 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



to do with myself; and besides, I have plenty of 
time for play, for you know that we are in school 
only six hours. 

Lucy. Six hours! F should think that was 
long enough to sit perched up on hard benches, 
studying long, dry lessons — without understand- 
ing a word of them, either. And then, if you 
look off your book a minute, you have to take a 
scolding from the school-ma'am. I don't see how 
you can bear it; it would make me sick, very 
soon, I am sure. 

Sarah, Why, Lucy, how can you talk so ? 1 
don't think you would^ if you went to our school, 
and knew our teacher. She is as kind and 
pleasant as our own mothers ; and when we are 
naughty, she does not scold us, but talks to us 
so seriously and gently, that we cannot help 
loving her. But here comes Emma, and she 
will tell you the same, for she loves school and 
the teacher as well as I do. 

Emma. Good morning, girls ! What are you 
talking about so earnestly ? 

Sarah. Why, Emma, 1 am trying to make 
Lucy think, as we do, that it is much pleasanter 
to go to school and study than it is to play all the 
time. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 153 



Emma [to Lucy) And will you not believe 
it, Lucy ? I am sure you would, if you had 
ever tried it. 

Lucy, But I did try it for a whole month, 
and I never was so tired of anything in my life. 
The lessons were so hard that I could not learn 
them ; and then the teacher scolded me, and kept 
me in from recess, so that I did n't like her at 
all ; and I teased my mother till she took me away 
from school, and I have n't been willing to go 
since. 

Emma. Why, Lucy, either you must have 
been very naughty, or your teacher was not at 
all like ours. She never gives us too long les- 
sons; and if there is anything that we can't 
understand, she explains it to us, and talks about 
it till it seems perfectly easy. Sometimes, when 
we have been very good, she gives us little books 
to read; and when we carry her flowers, she 
kisses us, and calls us her " dear little girls." 
! I know you would love her, Lucy. 

Sarah, So I have been telling her; and I 
wish she would only go with us for a little while, 
and see if it w^ould not be better than playing all 
day. For my part, I always enjoy driving hoop 
and skipping rope much more after I have been 



154 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



studying and trying to please my teacher; don't 
you, Emma ? 

Emma. Yes, indeed ! and if you will only 
follow our advice, Lucy, you will feel so too. 

Lucy. Well, you have said so much about it, 
that if you will let me go with you this morning, 
and I like it, I will ask mother to send me there 
all the time. 

Sarah and Emma. O, do come ! do come ! I 
know you will be happier. 

Emma. Come, let us go now, for I hear the 
school bell ringing. 

Sarah (to Lucy.) I am so glad you are going 
with us! 



ABOUT GAMBLING. 

Samuel. Come, leave your top, and let 's go 
and toss buttons. Brother John won ever so 
many the other day, and he said he would have 
had more, but the boys got to fighting, and broke 
up the game. 

Joseph. My father does not think it right to 
play so, and he told me never to do it. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 155 

Samuel. Where 's the harm of tossing up 
with buttons, I wonder? 

Joseph. He says, the boys who play so with 
buttons soon learn to toss up cents ; and then 
they learn to cheat and steal to get cents to play 
with; and as soon as they grow bigger, they play 
cards and gamble, and get into the penitentiary ; 
and that it often happens that they fight, and 
sometimes one kills the other, and then gets into 
prison. 

Samuel. How does he know all that ? 

Joseph. He says he knows grown up men 
that have gambled away all their money, and 
that they began in this way. And he told me 
about apprentice boys, that stole money from' 
their masters to play cards with. He says, if 
you see a boy tossing buttons, the next thing will 
be cents, and then you '11 hear of his playing cards, 
and then of his stealing money to buy lottery 
tickets. 

Samuel. I wish I had a lottery ticket. I 
heard the other day of a man that drew a prize 
of twenty thousand dollars. I suppose that was 
wrong, too, was n't it ? 

Joseph. You need not laugh, Sam ; father 
says buying lottery tickets is gambling too, and 



"1 



156 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

that people ought to work and attend to their 
business, and do what the Bible tells them, and 
they will get enough. He says boys that try to 
get money by pitching cents, and lotteries, and 
such things, lose their characters^ and grow tricky, 
and lazy, and wicked. 

Samuel. Well, I know a great many boys that 
do it. 

Joseph. Are they steady^ holiest boys ? Do 
they never cheat ? Would you trust any of them 
with money, if you had it ? 

Samuel. I don't know, — I can't say I v/ould. 

Joseph. Do they never fight ^ nor swear ? 

Samuel. Why, 1 can't say but they do some- 
times. 

Joseph. Do they go to school and to church ? 

Samuel. I do know some scholars that pitch 
buttons, and cents too. 

Joseph. None in our school do so ; our teach- 
er tells us how wrong it is. He says he did see 
one or two scholars the other day at it, among a 
parcel of boys, and he was ashamed of them, and 
told them they would lose their characters. 

Samuel. How so ? 

Joseph. He says a boy's character is not worth 
much that is seen in such company. And he 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 157 

hopes, now they are told of it, they will not do 
so again. Now, tell me, Sam, when you pitch 
cents, and lose, do you not feel as if you would 
do almost anything to get more to begin again ? 

Samuel, Well, I do, to be sure. 

Joseph. And don't you think that young men 
that play cards, and other such games, feel just 
so too ? And if they are in a store, and their 
master's money is w^here they can get at it, 
would n't they take some ? 

Samuel. I don't know but they would ; per- 
haps they might. 

Joseph. I heard, the other day, of a very 
young man, who was clerk of a store in New 
York, who took so much of his master's money 
that at last he was found out, and for fear of the 
shame and punishment he ran off, and has not 
been heard of. 

No, Sam ; I '11 not go and play any such plays 
with you, for it is quite wrong, and contrary to 
God's word, and nothing but trouble and sin will 
come of it. So, if you will stay among boys 
that do so, you and I must part. But I hope 
vou will reflect, and decide to do right. 



14 



158 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 



THE PEACOCK. 



Mary. Why is it, Jane, that you dislike the 
peacock so much? Has he attempted to hurt 
you ? 

Jane. No, Mary ; he has never done me any 
harm; but I cannot bear to see him strutting 
about so proud of his feathers. 

Mary. Do you not think his plumage beauti- 
ful? 

Jane. Indeed I do ; but then I do not like to 
see him make such a display of it. Whenever 
I pass the vain thing, he always spreads his tail, 
and struts about to catch my notice ; but now I 
never look at him. 

Mary. How do you know that he does this 
from pride ? Perhaps it is his way of showing 
his regard for you. He surely would not take 
such pains, unless he wished to please you. 

Jane. 1 know he wishes to show off his 
plumage, and I will teach him to be more mod- 
est, by taking no notice of him. 

Mary. Did you ever see him before a look- 
ing-glass ? 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 159 

Jane {laughing). No, indeed ! he does not 
make his toilet as we do. 

Mary. Then he does not waste so much time, 
perhaps. But I forgot to ask you, Jane, how you 
like the new bonnet your mother bought yester- 
day. 

Jane. I don't like it at all. It is a real 
homely thing, and I shall be ashamed to wear 
it to church to-morrow. 

Mary. Do you dislike its shape ? 
Jane. No ; its shape is well enough. 
Mary. Is it not adapted to the season ? 
Jane. Yes, it is warm enough, I dare say. 
Mary. Why. then, do you dislike it so much ? 
Jarie. Why, I expected a splendid riband, and 
a couple of ostrich-feathers, at least. 
I Mary. Pray, what did you wish to do with 
j them ? 

i Jane. Wear them, to be sure. You don't 
I think I would shut them up in my trunk, and 
! never shoio them, do you ? There is not an 
ostrich-feather in the village, and I hoped I 
; should have worn the first one, and mortified the 
country girls. 

Mary. Do you think the young ladies of the 
village would be pleased to see you looking so 



J 



160 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

much finer than they, and showing yourself off 
as you propose ? 

Jane, I don't care whether they like it or not; 
if I am pleased myself, it is enough. 

Mary, What will you do, if they hate you, 
and refuse to look at you ? for so you treat the 
poor peacock. 

Jayie. Why, sister, do you think I resemble 
the peacock ? 

Mary. I must confess, Jane, that I cannot see 
any difference in your favor. If you hate him 
for his vanity and pride, although he is only a 
poor bird, without reason to guide him, how can 
you expect anything bat hatred, if you show your 
dress, and strut about as he does ? The poor 
bird, in my opinion, shows less pride in display- 
ing his own feathers, than you do in wishing to 
display the feathers of an ostrich, or any other 
borrowed finery. 



THE MAGIC LAMP. 



Sarah, I wish / could be as happy as Jane 
Seymour always is ! 

Harriet, Well,, you might be, if you could 
get the charm which she carries with her. 



THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 161 

Sarah. And pray do you believe in charms ? 

Harriet. Yes, in such charms as she has ; for 
it is the gift of no wizard or witch. 

Sarah. Well, do tell me what the charm is, 
and where she got it. 

Harriet. 0, she did n't go a great way for it, 
though she had to labor hard for it. 

Sarah. Labor hard for it ! Why, I thought 
charms came to persons, like fairy gifts, and not 
that they had to work for them. 

Harriet. No ; if you will look again into 
your fairy books, you will find that those lucky 
beings who obtained fairy favors wrought a good 
while before they obtained the gifts. 

Sarah. Well, I do remember some stories, 
where some poor little girls worked hard for their 
parents, and were real good, and then received 
from the fairies some strange charm to keep them 
ever happy. 

Harriet. I guess the charm was not very 
strange^ — but like Jane Seymour's magic lamp. 

Sarah. Magic lamp ! Is that her charm of 
happiness ? 

Harriet. It is. 

Sarah. Pray tell me about it. 

Harriet. Why, it is a magic lamp, that no 



14* 



162 THE LITTLE SPEAKER. 

wind can blow out, and no damp can make burn 
less brightly. It is always beautiful, and as 
pleasant as the sunshine. 

Sarah. Well, that is singular indeed; for the 
lamp must have magic in it, if no wind can blow 
it out, and no damp can make it dim. 

Harriet. It surely is a magic lamp ; and you 
can get it if you will work hard enough. 

Sarah. I am sure I am willing to work for it; 
for wouldn't it be funny enough to carry it to 
school, and let the scholars see it burn brightly 
in the old well? They 'd think I was a witch. 

Harriet. Well, if you had it, you would have 
much witchery over others. 

Sarah. Do tell me, then, what is this magic 
lamp. 

Harriet. Why, it is nothing more nor less 
than " good temper." 

Sarah. O, dear me! I guess that oh^xm. 
isn't to be got without working for it. But it 
is certainly a beautiful lamp, and I will try to 
become the owner of one. 



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